Fire Emblem: Shadow of Bern
by DarkSoccerKnight7012
Summary: UPDATED! After the events of FE7, just as Archsage Athos predicted, war once again rises from the Shadow of Bern. But what are the true motives of this new threat? Read on as this story nears the conclusion! This may be the last update for a while...
1. Prologue: A Frosty Confrontation

_I told you it would come, and here it is: the prologue to my not-so-much-anticipated Fire Emblem story! Yeah, I know, you didn't review my other stuff, so why should you bother? In a few words...you really don't have to. I just want you to, and that is reason enough. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I don't own any part of Fire Emblem. Intelligent Systems and Nintendo do a fine job with it. I just felt like adding my own little flair to the mythos. _

_Fire Emblem: Shadow of Bern (based on the first FE game in the States)_

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"Look at him! Prissy, stupid little royal!"

"Yeah, what an idiot! He can't even hear us, and we're only a few measly meters away!"

"He may very well be hearing us, fools! Be quiet!"

"You think so, old codger?" One of them turned to the shadows. "I'll bet you all the gold in his treasury that he won't hear us until we slit his throat!"

"I said hush!" The elderly man's hood fell off his head as he held a slender, crooked finger to his pursed lips, revealing his deep violet eyes and slick grey hair in the pale moonlight. "And don't brag about having the money 'till we've actually done the job!" He shook his head in disgust, his mutterings about "idiots" flying away on the swift wind.

Suddenly, furtive footsteps came pounding through the trees near where the attackers lay in wait. "Draw swords, men, but quietly!" The gray haired man said, but his men ignored him, drawing their swords with a great clatter. "Quiet, fools!" he hissed, but it didn't matter.

Bursting through the shrubs bordering the clearing, a short, stubby man wearing an absurdly festive robe came into view, his panting breaths making crystalline clouds in the cool night air. "General...General Murdock… they've…they heard you, just now…they went into their tents to get their weapons…I came to warn you as soon as I could, but they…they could be anywhere—"

Just as General Murdock thought to retort, he felt the cold touch of steel to the nape of his neck, and a voice as cool as the night air replied for him. "Yes, Julius, you're right—'they' could be anywhere."

Murdock dared not risk turning to face his attacker, but he already knew whose sword was prodding him in the back, causing a thin trail of blood to trickle down his spine. "Lord Eliwood, I presume?"

"You assume correctly, traitor." The Marquess stepped out of the shadows, prompting Murdock to shift and step forward on his knees with a sharp breath. Eliwood's fiery red hair taking on an unnatural brilliance in the moon's eerie glow, and his firm grip held the rapier between him and Murdock stable. Sensing some of Murdock's men getting antsy, he added, "And I am not without friends." As if on cue, five tough-looking knights stepped out of the shadows behind him, grim expressions set on their faces, weapons drawn. At the center, most of the soldiers recognized, was the famed Marcus of Pherae, holding a lance stained with something dark. It looked enough like blood to make the soldiers think twice about taking even a step towards him.

"What do you want, Eliwood?"Murdock found that he could barely take a breath without feeling a sharp pain stab into his neck. He inhaled slowly and said, "Lord Zephiel will be interested to hear about you threatening me tonight." He gave Eliwood a second to ponder it, then continued breathlessly, "He might not be so sympathetic to you next time one of your criminals comes claiming asylum in Bern—"

"I agree wholeheartedly, Murdock. Zephiel will hear about this." Eliwood took another step into the clearing, forcing Murdock to walk forward on his knees as well. "Not from you, of course–unless you wish to send him a letter from the dungeons of Castle Pherae." Eliwood's knights gave a slight smirk at this, but he didn't bother to notice; his eyes were locked on to the back of Murdock's head. "He will, however, hear from me, about how you and your—" he looked over Murdock's troops with a slight grin,"—soldiers, attempted to assassinate me while I was making camp on a peace mission—"

"Arrgh!" One of Murdock's soldiers, apparently enraged by Eliwood's insult, raised his sword and came barreling toward Eliwood like a mad horse, bloodlust clouding the whites of his eyes...

_SPLURRCH!_

The man gasped and fell backward, blood pouring from a giant gash in his torso. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets in shock. "G-g-gen-eral…" he blubbered, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth, staining the grass below. He writhed for a moment, then went still–dead.

Lowen's turquoise hair hung low over his eyes, dripping with sudden sweat. His lance was at his side, dripping with fresh blood. "Marcus, sir? Did I…"

"Yes, Lowen, you did." Marcus's voice was soft and affirming. "You saved your Lord from considerable danger." He patted the knight on the back gently. "I'll be sure to recommend the Knight Council give you a citation."

Murdock swore. "Eliwood…you have no idea…what you have just done…" he took a sharp breath and swore again. "You killed a Bern soldier on disputed territory…regardless of who tells him, Zephiel will hear of your…" he wretched and spat again,"…your treachery."

Eliwood's grim smile turned to a grim frown in a split second. "Yes…yes, I suppose it shall." He hesitated, then, in one swift motion, took his sword from Murdock's neck and sheathed it. "You may go, then."

Astonished, Murdock gave a short gasp and got to his feet. He took a few steps over to his soldiers, and turned to the man in robes, who was apparently still in shock at the sight of a man being killed. "Julius…Julius…for God's sake, come to your senses and heal me!"

Julius, white as a ghost, gave a blank nod, took out his staff, and recited a healing incantation. A sudden blue light emanated from the staff, flooding the clearing, then vanished without a sound. Murdock gave a tiny gasp, then sighed, rubbed his neck, and held out his hand to the moonlight. "No blood." He gave a chuckle. "Amazes me every time, all this arcane stuff you healers do…" He gave another slight chuckle, then turned to Eliwood, his expression grim once more. "Do not doubt that Zephiel will hear of your treachery as soon as I arrive back at Bern Manse."

Eliwood just stared at Murdock's eyes, boring into them with his steel will. "I do not doubt that at all, Murdock. Not at all." With that, he watched as Murdock and his men picked up the body of their fallen comrade and walked out of the forest clearing. Julius stood on the threshold for a moment.

"Send word back the moment Zephiel reacts to the news, Julius." Eliwood's voice was only a whisper, but it was still commanding enough. "Do not fail me."

Julius didn't turn, but still replied, "I won't my Lord." And he walked off into the night, yelling, "Murdock, wait for me, my lord! Wait, General!"

Eliwood stared after him for a moment, then said simply, "Follow him."

"Yes, my Lord," said a voice from the shadows. "As you wish."


	2. One: A Shattered Sunset

_Ah, now for the real story! Actually, I have no idea why the last chapter was a prologue, I just thought it should be. Again, I do not own any part of Fire Emblem. It is the property of Intelligent Systems and Nintendo, neither of whom will sue me for this--I hope._

_One: A Shattered Sunset_

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The two opponents stood facing each other in the courtyard, silent. The afternoon sun was setting over the parapets of the Royal School's towers, casting a warm amber glow over the soon-to-be battlefield. Other students chattered in whispered anticipation for the battle to begin. Suddenly, the Headmaster rose from his seat in the shadows of the archway and walked out to the battlefield.

Roy stood silent, his gaze shifting purposefully between the crowd, the Headmaster, and the girl standing across from him on the lawn. Her long, purple hair shimmered red in the golden sun as it was gently rustled by the slight breeze blowing in from the east. Her soft, pale hands rested on the pole section of the lance that was thrust into the ground beside her. Lilina, Princess of Ostia, was a beautifully talented opponent...for a girl. Roy dared to crack a smile within the Headmaster's range of vision, thinking about all the other times he and Lilina had sparred on their vacations together. Such vacations were frequent because their fathers, Marquess Eliwood of Pherae and Marquess Hector of Ostia, were such close friends. The results of such matches were always in Roy's favor, but they had never been in a formal setting like the one he faced today. By a stroke of luck, they were the last two standing in the annual Fighter's Tournament at their school, the School for Children of Royalty. A horribly named school, in Roy's opinion, but his opinion didn't matter much at the school, because all of the students were in the same position as he. But none of them were as skilled in combat as he and Lilina, who had been trained personally by their parents for years.

Now the Headmaster was in the center of the lawn. Roy picked up his sheathed sword from the ground, tied it to his belt, and strode purposefully to the center ring. Lilina had already dislodged her lance from the earth, and was nearly floating to meet the Headmaster in the center.

Once they were both in the circle, the Headmaster began to speak in his commandingly dull tone. "The final match in the Fighter's Tournament will now begin." He paused as the students all cheered, shouting equally for Roy and Lilina. Then he continued, "The rules are as normal; the fight ends when one combatant is forced out of the circle," he said, motioning to a 40 meter circle that surrounded them, "or has their weapon knocked out of the circle." He looked at Roy and Lilina, who nodded their heads in understanding. They had gone through all of this before with the other matches. The Headmaster spoke to them again. "The match starts when you shake hands and bow to each other, okay?" They nodded again, and he turned to the crowd. "Let the battle begin!" He waited for the applause to end, then walked to his seat with an arrogant gait.

Roy stared ahead at Lilina. She was beautiful, distractingly so, dressed in the traditional fighting garb of an Ostian trainee. She gave a quick smile, then held out her hand. Roy obliged, holding out his hand and gracefully bowing. Then, in one smooth motion, he and Lilina sidestepped each other. Lilina twirled her lance into a fighting stance, and Roy threw off his cape and drew his sword. Then, giving Lilina a brilliant smile, he charged.

Lilina effortlessly dodged Roy's first stroke, countering with a quick swipe of her lance. Roy blocked it and slid under it. Springing to his feet, he swung for her left arm. Her lance met his sword in midswing, sending Roy in an off-balance lunge in the other direction. She swung her lance around and hit him in the back, throwing him to the ground and sending his sword a few feet from him. Then, utilizing all the training her father had given her, she jabbed her lance in the earth, pumped her arms, and vaulted into the air, keeping her lance in her hand. Then, like a falcon on the hunt, she flipped the lance downward and streaked back towards earth and the gasps of all onlookers.

Roy had only seen her do this move when she was practicing, so it took him a minute to realize what she was doing. The second was going to cost him, he realized as she fell to earth at an alarming rate of speed. On reflex, he rolled backward, grabbed his sword, planted his foot, and used his momentum to propel a thrust to where her body was going to be.

Lilina realized Roy's strategy a moment before impact, and let her grip fall back to the end of the lance's handle. It struck the ground, and she slid down the handle with the ease of a fish in the water, planting a solid kick in Roy's face when she reached the point. Roy flew backward with a yelp of pain, but Lilina knew this was a feint. She whirled back around her lance, feeling a rush of air as Roy's sword stabbed at her last location. She picked up her lance and parried two strong blows from him, then swung her lance for his ankles. Steel met steel, and soon they were standing chest to chest, weapons crossed. Pushing with all her might, she still couldn't get Roy to budge in the slightest. "Aren't you going to move sometime, Roy?"

"Get down." He whispered, fear in his voice.

"What?"

Roy caught her off guard and threw her to the ground. Suddenly, something whizzed by their heads and hit the ground with a clatter. Lilina stared past Roy's mess of red hair, horrified; it was a longbow arrow! She rolled over to follow Roy's eyes. She gasped.

At the top of the eastern parapet, and figure robed in black stood with an arrow nocked in his bow. "My next shot will not miss, clever prince," he shouted. Then he laughed and drew the string back. Lilina buried her head in Roy's robes and began to cry.

"BOLTING!" Roy threw himself and Lilina from the circle as a giant bolt of lightning struck the sniper on the tower. The man screamed in pain and fell from the tower. A sickening thud signified his landing on the battlefield.

The students in audience sat in stunned silence. The Headmaster did nothing except stare at the sooty, bloody corpse with a hand over his mouth. Only one person, a figure hooded in deep purple, walked out towards the center.

"Another one?" Roy shouted, hopping to his feet with his sword in hand. "Fight me now, you fiend!"

"Silence, Prince Roy. You have no need to draw your sword against me." He threw back his hood to reveal a slick ponytail of blue hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to shine. "After all, it was I who saved you from that would-be assassin." He motioned to the crumpled body at the base of the tower. "Come, we have much to discuss, but it must be done with your parents present, and so we must ride to Castle Pherae with all possible haste."

Roy nodded meekly, and Lilina put a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. The man turned to walk away, and Roy and Lilina followed.

"Wait, you!" The three turned to see the Headmaster running toward them, sword drawn and eyes wild. "Just where are you going with those children? They are under my protection here and I–"

"With all due respect, ma'am, your protection obviously isn't worth much. Their parents have requested that I take them to Castle Pherae immediately..." he dug into his pack and rifled through its contents. Then, pulling out an official-looking scroll, he said, "I'm glad I got here when I did."

The Headmaster looked at the scroll with distrust, inspecting the seal, which Roy recognized as being that of the Lycian League. "And just who are you, hmm?"

His stern face gave way to a slight smile. "I am Mikhail, second Apprentice to his esteemed Count Reglay, Lord Pent of Etruria."

The trio walked out silently and mounted their horses, riding away as the Headmaster looked on in utter disbelief.

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_When you review, please pay extra attention to my action sequences. I feel they are not up to par. Give me some suggestions, they will be especially appreciated! Please read some of my other stories, too. I have a Final Fantasy Tactics Advance story and a D.N.Angel story for fans of manga/anime._


	3. Two: Tears for the Fallen

_Okay, one thing you should know about this story is that the viewpoint will be skipping around quite a bit. This chapter is from Crown Prince Zephiel's point of view, and a later chapter will be from Eliwood's point of view, but it mainly focuses on Roy and Lilina. Unless you are an idiot, you know that I do not own any part of Fire Emblem._

_Two: Tears for the Fallen

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As his black cloak rippled in the wind, Zephiel wondered how it had come to this. His father's sins...how had he let them invade his own life? He had sworn that he would never make the same mistakes, yet here he was...

His soft aqua eyes, glistening with tears in the pale moon, turned from the cloudy sky to the courtyard of Bern Manse. Here, sitting on top of the tower parapet, he could see that General Murdock had returned. He watched as the general dismounted and walked towards the Hall, leaving his men to unload the wrapped bundle on the back of the horse. Zephiel's eyes widened as he realized what was in the sack: a man's body! What had happened? He was supposed to talk to Eliwood about their border disputes. Zephiel swore to the wind. If Murdock had done anything to Eliwood, he would kill the General where he stood.

His eyes went unfocused as he cried tears of anguish. He had let the kingdom spin out of control. Once, it had been a stronghold for peace; the people were protected from the mountain bandits by the might of Bern's military, and he had ruled them kindly and justly. But the wyvern riders had long since abandoned Bern Manse, preferring to be hired mercenaries than to live for the wishes of the crown, leaving Bern's cities defenseless...

His eyes suddenly clear, he saw another figure, wreathed in shadow, disappear into the amber warmth of the hall. Zephiel's lips formed another curse. Bearoth, that devil! Zephiel leaped off the ledge and landed on the balcony of his room. Throwing off his cloak, he buttoned on a royal vest and draped himself in the deep green-purple robes of Bern royalty and descended the steps to the hall, thinking about what Bearoth could possibly be plotting now. The golden-eyed snake...the last living Morph...the sins of his father, always watching him with those frightening eyes–

"Now, now, Zephiel...don't blame me for all your problems." Zephiel tripped down the stairs, fell against the door and whipped around with his dagger, only to have it meet a sickly, pale hand. Bearoth's eyes glinted with displeasure as he licked the blood off his hand. "The kingdom is in ruin because you put your precious Guinevere over the rest of your people." His tongue...Zephiel could've sworn it was forked. He shook in revulsion, and pulled away from Bearoth, pushing open the door to the audience chamber. He was disgusted, but he knew Bearoth was right...he had done this. All to save Guinevere...

Choking back tears that would come later, he sat on the throne, facing General Murdock and two of his lieutenants. Behind them was a priest, looking pale and bewildered. Zephiel wondered who it could possibly be, but he had no chance to ask, as Bearoth slithered over to his side. Zephiel's voice boomed through the Hall. "General Murdock...I assume your mission went as planned?" He paused, but Murdock didn't object, so he continued, "Eliwood agrees, then, and a meeting place is set? I would very much like to speak with the Lycian League about the matter–"

"My lord, all due respect, but you should trust Eliwood no longer." Murdock spoke, and Zephiel listened in incredulity. "I came to the border town of Shellak, near the southeastern mountains. I was told that Eliwood and his companions were camping outside of town near the forest, so I went with my men to talk to him, as your majesty ordered. But I found the camp abandoned. To make sure that nothing bad had befallen them, my men and I went into the forest to search for them." Murdock paused, and a look of pain crossed his face as his hand scratched his neck. "They ambushed us, sire. Eliwood himself had his sword to my back, and one of my men was killed by Eliwood's knights." Zephiel didn't betray any emotion, but inside his mind was racing. Eliwood...had ambushed Murdock? But why...they had been such friends before, even when relationships between the Lycian League and Bern had been strained. What had changed so suddenly?

"Did you do anything to...provoke...this attack, General?" Bearoth's slimy voice seemed to speak exactly what was on Zephiel's mind. He reminded himself to guard his thoughts next time.

"No, Sir Bearoth. They simply ambushed us in the dark. He claimed that I ambushed him and that he was going to throw me in the dungeons of Castle Pherae, but he let me go."

"That was odd..." Zephiel thought, but before Bearoth could read his mind, he shot a question at Murdock. "I appreciate your word, General, but in times such as these, I cannot simply rely on your word alone." Zephiel's face turned stoic, like his father's always used to when he saw Zephiel's face. "I cannot accept your accusation without any other validation."

"I understand, your majesty." Murdock stepped aside to reveal the diminuitive form of the priest behind him. "That is why I have brought your majesty a witness."

The priest stepped forward, more blood draining from his face with every second. He bowed clumsily, then began to speak. "My...my lord Zephiel..." his voice was unsure and crackling, and his face was dripping with beads of sweat. Zephiel didn't trust him at all. "I am called...Julius. What the General says is true. All of it...I saw the whole thing, and it was exactly as he describes it." He choked for a second, then continued, "That business with that knight killing one of your majesty's men...it was a wicked, despicable thing. The gods will truly punish Pherae for their treachery–"

"Thank, you, priest, that will be enough." Zephiel's eyes rolled as the priest backed away hurriedly. The man was obviously lying through his teeth. But what was the purpose of the lie? Unless...Zephiel's mind raced. If they say that Eliwood killed a man on disputed territory, then it would be an act of war..."NO!" Zephiel shouted, but it was too late.

"Then send word to all available armies. The King of Bern hereby declares war on the Lycian League and all it's allies." Bearoth's face twisted into a wicked smile, and Zephiel stared on in horror. He couldn't retract the statement...it was unfortunately already made by his head advisor, and was therefore on record, therefore irreversible...

Murdock rose with a grim smile on his face. "Then it shall be as his majesty commands. We shall leave at dawn for Georgheim, where we will muster. In five days time, we shall advance for Shellak and begin the assault on Lycia."

"Yes..." Zephiel's voice was barely a whisper. He rose, bowerd to Murdock, and retired through his doorway and ran up the stairs in tears. "Guinevere..."

Bearoth watched Zephiel leave, then turned back to Murdock. "I think he took it well, don't you, General?"

"Yes, of course, your Dark Majesty." Murdock bowed. "Should I recall the wyvern riders?"

"Yes. And if they refuse, tell them that we will take their wives and children captive and force them to fight in their stead." Bearoth cackled with evil delight. "Also, you will meet a group of sorcerers in Georgheim. Take them with you..." he turned and opened the door to Zephiel's chambers. "They are friends of mine; they will serve you well in the campaign against Etruria."

"Of course, Dark One." Bearoth closed the door behind him, and Murdock walked out the hall with his escorts.

As soon as Murdock retired for his chambers, Julius the priest and one of the soldiers went into the local tavern, The Black Eye. The lone soldier stood in the courtyard, watching as the lamps in Zephiel's parapet went out. Then, silently, he scaled the wall, flipped off onto his horse, and galloped away for Lycia. Matthew knew he had to reach Lord Eliwood before it was too late.


	4. Three: A Fateful Decision

_Okay, to answer the inevitable question "Did you write all these chapters at once!", I will say NO. I just uploaded them and published them all at once. Thank me later. Another chapter (the seventh, or eighth if you count the prologue) may be a while in coming, depending on how well this story is received. Only a drunken golem will think that I own any part of Fire Emblem. Actually, a drunken golem would probably kill me..._

_Three: A Fateful Decision

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"Father!" Roy burst through the doorway, running straight into his father's sheltering arms. Behind him, Lilina entered the chamber, looking for her father. Her eyes dimmed when there was no sign of his presence. Mikhail stood in the doorway. "Oh, Father, it was so horrible! There was an assassin on the parapet, and he shot at us! And I only just pushed Lilina and I out of the way in time, and–"

"Hush, Roy." Eliwood's normally fiery eyes now looked like the coals of a campfire, still just barely glowing in dawn's harsh light. But Eliwood's dawn was not of a peaceful day; it was a day of war. He look at Roy's face, pushing back the messy bangs that covered his son's face. "You need to be brave now, okay? I may not be able to comfort you in the days ahead, and you need to be able to deal with problems yourself." He let Roy back down on the ground and walked towards the door as Roy looked on, confused.

"You must be Lord Pent's representative, then?" Eliwood shook hands with Mikhail, sizing up Lord Pent's trusted student. He was fairly built, and strong looking for a magic-user. His face was unusually full of life, and his high cheekbones gave him a look of nobility and dignity. And yet, his eyes were so full of compassion. He would truly be a great ally, Eliwood could sense.

"Yes, your Majesty." Mikhail bowed, his cloak swishing on the marble floor. "I am Mikhail, Second Apprentice to his esteemed Count–"

"That will do, Mikhail. I know who you are here for." Eliwood's eyes sparked with mischief. Mikhail was taken aback by how youthful his majesty seemed, even though his appearances would mark him worse for the wear. "I...must thank you for saving my son..." Eliwood bowed. "And I am sure Marquess Ostia is thankful as well."

"Of course, your majesty. Lord Pent's spies found out about the plan only a week ago. My escorts and I hurried to intercept the assassin, but he had left the inn at Saracept prior to our arrival. Luckily, the innkeeper–"

Eliwood sighed and shook his head. This one was a little too overzealous, perhaps. "I thank you for the account, but I have little time for it. The Council of Elders is holding an emergency meeting in minutes, and it is sure to be a struggle." Eliwood gestured to Mikhail, and the mage followed the Marquess down the hall. Eliwood spoke to a servant, who sent Roy and Lilina to their chambers upstairs. Then they continued their walk. "I am not sure how much you grasp of politics–"

"I have sat on the Etrurian Council of Sages for Lord Pent on several occasions."

"Well then, you must understand how corrupt it all is. I hate it myself, but I must answer to them still." Eliwood laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't wish my job on anyone, even my son."

"I know what you mean, sir," Mikhail said, even though he didn't, completely.

Eliwood smiled and started to speak, but was interrupted by a court person. "Your majesty, the council has assembled and is awaiting you in the chamber." The courtier grabbed a cloak out from under his arm and threw it over Eliwood, letting two servants clasp it. He then handed Eliwood a huge sword. Mikhail marveled at it; it seemed to burn with an eternal flame, even though there was no heat, nor were there flames. He breathed in a gasp as he realized that he was looking at Durandal, the legendary, dragon-slaying sword of Roland.

Eliwood touched it reverently, then put it in it's scabbard and clasped it to his belt. Then, putting on an air of authority, he threw open the door to the council chamber.

The giant, circular room was home to many oaken desks, all of which were in use by two or three people each. The members of Eliwood's council, Mikhail bemusedly observed, were dressed in outlandish fashions, wearing thick robes of furs and hats adorned with claws of ferret and peacock feathers. Mikhail had to suppress a chuckle. The Council of Sages in Etruria was so blandly simple, and yet–he realized now–so elegant.

Eliwood sat in a marble chair above the council, his red-violet robes cascading down the white marble like a river of cooling lava. Mikhail, as an honored guest, was brought a chair, which he thankfully sat down in. This was not, Mikhail came to realize, the illustrious Lycian League. Rather, it was the Pheraen courts.

"Let this session of the Council of Pheraen Elders begin." Eliwood said, watching the court recorder with amusement as he willed his old, wrinkled hands to write in absurd shorthand.

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, this summoning of the council is absurd!" One of the men in the back stood up, rattling his hand like a saber–which he had obviously never held in his life–at Eliwood.

"I quite agree, Sir Marchond. But it was the Citizen's Guild and Army Spies Guild members that called this meeting. Let us see what they have to say before you blame me, hmm?" Eliwood glared at the lord, and lord sat down in a huff.

Presently a gentleman at the front of the chamber stood, unfurling a sheaf of parchment as he cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, we have called this meeting to address our concerns about the state of the kingdom. There have been..." he hesitated, as if he were about to swear in public, "..rumors, that war is brewing with Bern." His eyes raised above the line of his spectacles. "With all due respect, sir, is this any time to start a war? We barely got through the drought this summer without an impeachment hearing, and now you want us to go to war with Bern, the military capital of ?" The lord's words seemed to echo with the rest of the council, and there were murmurs of agreement throughout the chamber.

"I agree completely, Sir Channing, but I am afraid it cannot be avoided." Eliwood nodded to a servant, who left through a side door. He continued, "My most trusted informant just returned this morning with news that Bern, under the direction of General Murdock and one of King Zephiel's advisors, a man named Bearoth. He is here, and he will speak if you wish to hear from him."

The curtains rustled, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. The chamber gasped collectively, as he was dressed in the armor of a Bern soldier. "Forgive his disguise, council, he has not been given time to change since he arrived." Eliwood's reassurance kept the council in their seats. The spy lifted his helmet to reveal short, blonde hair and shiny eyes that oozed mischief. Mikhail was not fond of these type of people, but it was not his place to speak against this informant of Eliwood's.

Without introducing himself, the spy began his account. "A fortnight ago, I disguised myself as a guard of General Murdock and was present in an audience with King Zephiel, the General, and a man called Bearoth." He spat the last name out, and most gathered that this was an unsavory character. "The armies of Bern are going to war now, though it sounds as though they have been preparing to do so for quite some time." Those words sunk into the audience, keeping them glued to their chairs. "They are recalling the Wyvern Riders and marching on the city of Shellak as we speak." He looked at Mikhail and continued, "They also have a group of magicians that will be leading an assault on Etruria. These magicians," he turned back to the audience, "are apparently under the direction of this Bearoth himself."

The council could barely contain their grief. Another war in twenty years. Some of them had been there during the Second Scouring, when Pherae had no king. A shudder went through those that remember those dark times.

A young lord in the corner stood and shouted, "What of Zephiel? Did he not order this war? Just a month ago there was talk of negotiations..."

"Unfortunately, Lord Keller, I myself witnessed the demise of those negotiations." Eliwood's voice was grave. I was attacked near Shellak by General Murdock, who no doubt reported to Zephiel that I had attacked him, which made it an act of war because it was on disputed territory."

Cries of outrage sounded throughout the hall. "What do you plan to do about this then, Marquess Pherae?"

"Hear me, council, for the record. I myself will see to the defense of the East, and hopefully I can make it to Bern Manse and right this myself."

"But, sir," one shouted, "you will be needed at the Lycian League!"

Eliwood thought about this for a moment, then responded. "My son will go in my stead."

More cries were heard.

"He's just a boy!" one said.

"Who will protect him?" several said.

"And what if you both die? What then!" Lord Channing had risen again. "We will have no heir to the throne, and Pherae will be left lawless!" Several agreeing shouts were heard after this.

"SILENCE!" Eliwood's voice boomed, silencing the Council. "My son is a fine young man. He is well prepared to go to the Lycian League. I will send some of my finest knights to protect him, as well as Lord Pent of Etruria's representative." Eliwood motioned to Mikhail, who stood. Then he continued, "As for your question, Lord Channing, the country would not be left lawless or without government! The Lycian League would take care of it's government, as it has done with Caelin."

The murmurs of dissent slowly died, until the chamber was silent. Eliwood rose. "Mikhail, Matthew?" Mikhail and the spy rose with him. "Council is adjourned." With that, Eliwood and company left the council chamber.

High up, from a hidden balcony behind a curtain, Roy and Lilina looked at each other in dreadful anticipation. They were going to Ostia.


	5. Four: Two Long Roads

_Congratulations on reading this story up till chapter four! If you like my writing this much, you are to be commended, but for greatness or foolishness I cannot say. If you are a fool, however, you might say that I own some part of Fire Emblem. I do not. Rest assured, fool._

_Four: Two Long Roads

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_

Eliwood, flanked by Matthew the spy and Mikhail, marched from the din of the council chamber to the silence of the Royal Quarters. Eliwood threw open the doors, ushered the two in, then closed and locked them with an ornate key. Carefully, he lit two candles on the center table and closed the windows.

"Sir, if I may, your actions in the chamber may have been a bit too...sudden, for some of the lords." Matthew had gone to the cabinet near the door and grabbed a bottle of brandy and three glasses, which he was distributing as he spoke.

"I agree, Matthew," Eliwood said as he took his glass in hand, "but they had to hear it." He drank and sighed. "And if not now, when? They would be more distressed, I think, to hear of my plans the day of my departure."

"I suppose so, my lord." Matthew took off his breastplate and helmet and threw them in the corner with a clatter. Mikhail was a bit shocked to see such rash behavior, but he was perhaps more shocked to be in the presence of the legendary Thief Lord of Ostia and Marquess Pherae at the same time, and to have them talking so amiably with one another. He sipped his brandy quietly.

"So, Matthew. Tell me, what didn't you tell of your story to the council. I gathered there were some secrets hidden between you words in the chambers." Eliwood sat back and poured himself another glass.

"Ah, yes, your Majesty has guessed correctly." Matthew sipped his brandy and continued. "Zephiel himself did not issue the order to go to war. When Murdock made his accusation, and presented his witness–"

"Who was the witness?"

"That good-for-nothing priest, Julius of Vitroven."

Eliwood's eyes darkened at this news. "I see. Go ahead."

"Yes, well, Julius spoke, and Zephiel didn't believe a word of it. Then Murdock told him that it was on disputed territory." Matthew looked into Eliwood's eyes. "I cannot say whether it was a look of shock or disbelief that crossed the Prince's face, only that he shouted 'NO!' an instant before Bearoth gave Murdock the orders."

"So Zephiel didn't Bearoth to initiate these orders, then?" Eliwood was contemplating Matthew's words, trying to understand what was happening to his friend. He looked back to Matthew. "So then, is Bearoth working behind the Prince's back?"

"Most definitely. The Prince ran away crying, and then Bearoth gave Murdock the marching orders I told the council about."

"What is this man, Bearoth, like?" Mikhail's voice made the two, who had forgotten he was listening, jump. "I should like to know, as I will be helping defend Etruria against him and his followers."

Matthew thought for a moment, recalling the image of the man as he had done so many times for Marquess Ostia in the past. "He is large, tall...he has dark features...long black hair..." Matthew shuddered, then spoke again. "He wears a cloak most of the time, with some arcane symbol drawn on the chest, but his golden eyes seem to pierce you from wherever you stand."

"Golden eyes!" Eliwood stood abruptly, eyes wide with terror. "It can't be–"

"Yes, sir...I thought the same thing myself." Matthew stood beside the Marquess. "I thought we had defeated them all. But it looks like Nergal has found a way to harass us from beyond the grave."

The three looked at each other in stunned silence, each weighing the news on already heavy hearts. Though Mikhail had not fought the Morphs, the golem abominations of Nergal of which Bearoth obviously was, he knew of the magic involved with making them, and he shuddered at the thought of the horrible power the one who made them must have possessed. Even Lord Pent would not be able to wield such fearsome magic, and he had become quite the Sage in twenty years.

There came a sudden knock on the door, which jolted them all out of their thoughts. Matthew slipped himself and his stolen armor into the shadows, and Mikhail stood sentinel by the window. Eliwood opened the door and was attacked by two children dressed in riding gear. "Father!" Roy's hug made it hard for Eliwood to breathe, so he freed himself from his son's tight grip. Lilina stood in the doorway, silent. "Father, are we really going to the Lycian League?"

Eliwood laughed. "You were listening, weren't you, you little rascal?" He ruffled his hands through his son's red hair, laughing in spite of his dark thoughts. He stood his son straight in front of him. "Yes, you are going to Ostia. You will represent Pherae in my stead, and you will be recognized as a true prince of Pherae!"

Roy's eyes gleamed as he listened to his father's praise. In a prideful show of patriotism, Roy saluted his father. Eliwood laughed. "I am already in riding clothes, father, and I have packed a saddlebag."

"As have I, Marquess Eliwood." Lilina smiled, her violet eyes glowing sheepishly.

"So, we are ready to go, then?" Mikhail stepped forward from the window and took Roy and Lilina in his arms.

"Not just yet, Mikhail." Eliwood looked at his son. "There is something I must give my son, first. Excuse us." Eliwood took his son by the shoulder and walked down the corridor. Roy looked up at his father, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. They passed through the dining hall, the ninepin hall, and the badminton courtyard, and into a part of the castle that was unfamiliar to Roy. Above him, frescoes of ancient heroes wielding mighty weapons and fighting giant dragons leaped from the ceilings, and the gold and red paints splashed downward onto the pillars, until they collided with the rich purple marble of the floor. "Where are we, father?"

Eliwood kept walking. "We are in the Hall of the Kings, son. This is where I will be buried when I die."

Roy just stared at his father as they kept walking in silence. Suddenly, they stopped.

Before them was a giant statue of a warrior. His noble, fierce face was etched into purple marble, and his cloak of gold billowed from the nape of his neck, where a shining red brooch clasped it in place. The knight was holding a sword, but it was not one of marble. The sword was real; the cold steel reflected the sunset in a flash of yellow, orange, and red that danced across its shimmering surface. The hilt was anchored to the blade by a mosaic of blue glass surrounded by gold bands, showing a stone of fire burning a dragon. The hand holds were wrapped in rough leather, and the ends of the hilt were pointed arrows of black onyx with a ruby set in each one. Roy breathed in awe of the sword. It was truly beautiful.

Eliwood walked up to the statue, staring up at its face with a familiar smile that Roy couldn't quite fathom. Surely, his father didn't know the Great Hero, Roland...did he?

"Do you know what this sword is, Roy?" Eliwood stepped up on the pedestal and took the sword from the statue's hand. Roy gasped as he handled it with ease, twirling the gigantic sword through the air as though it were nothing more than his old rapier.

"Is it...Durandal, slayer of dragons?"

Eliwood laughed. "It is indeed. Here, take it." He held out the hilt for Roy.

Roy shoved it back. "Father! I cannot wield a sword so great as that!" He stood on his toes so as to look more commanding. "And I don't think you should either."

Eliwood laughed, then sighed and handed the blade back to the statue. Roy gasped again as the statue's hand closed around the blade's handle. "Fine, then. Roland will be here to give it to you when you are ready." Eliwood then moved the left of Roland's statue, to a small alcove shrouded in red-violet curtains. "But you can at least take this," he said as he swept the curtains aside.

There, in an open chest on a marble pedestal, lay a magnificent sword. Not as great as Durandal, but an excellent blade nonetheless. The steel was thin, double-edged, and elegant. The hilt was again of onyx, wrapped in leather and studded with rubies. The mosaic in the hilt, though, was blank. Roy picked up the sword, twirling it in his hand as his father had done with Durandal. "What is this sword's name?"

"It has none." Eliwood smiled at his son's confused frown. "It was made for a lord who had not yet become a man...who did not yet know his destiny." He knelt beside his son. "It was made by the same hands that forged Durandal. It was made for the heir of Roland. You are the next in line to Roland's throne, so you must have it." He hugged his son. "You are not yet a man, but a fine boy you have become." He ruffled his fingers through Roy's red hair, fighting back tears. "I wish I had yet more time to prepare you."

"Aww, Dad." Roy laughed and hit his father playfully on the shoulder. "Don't cry, or I'll tell the Council you're not a man either."

"You wouldn't dare!" Eliwood laughed, and chased Roy all the way to the castle gates.

(&)

When they arrived there, Lilina was already saddled on her horse, Midnight, and Mikhail was on one of Eliwood's finest horses. The stablehands brought out Roy's horse, Sandalwood, and he attached his saddlebag to her. Then, with utmost care, he mounted her and put on his riding cloak. Eliwood came to speak with him.

"Roy. I am sending some of my knights with you. They are under your command now." Eliwood motioned to a gate at the far side.

From the shadows of the doorway, five warriors came dressed in their battle gear. The first was a young woman with a bow and quiver strapped to her back and green hair in tight pigtails falling from her head. Roy recognized her as Rebecca, one of Eliwood's friends from the Second Scouring. Behind her were two men who looked almost exactly alike, with blond hair and strong faces. Both bore swords and shields with the Pherean guard coat-of-arms on them. The fourth person was a tall, broad shouldered man about Roy's age and carrying a giant axe. The fifth was an old friend of Roy's, and his training partner.

"Lowen!" Roy shouted, almost falling off his horse in surprise.

Eliwood laughed. "Yes, Lowen is going to accompany you. As is Rebecca."

"Your Highness," Rebecca bowed gracefully.

"I don't believe you have met Sir Harken's sons, yes?" Eliwood said. Then, screwing his face up in thought, he introduced them. "Zechary and Phillip?"

"I'm Phillip!" said the twin on the left.

"And I'm Zechary!" said the one on the right. Roy looked for a way to tell them apart, then decided he would have to do it by voice alone; their appearance was almost identical.

"Quite right. And this is Victor, our newest axeman."

Victor merely nodded. Roy wasn't sure what to make of the tall axeman, but he decided whatever judgements he had would have to wait. "Alright, Father. I am ready to go!"

"Wait, son." Eliwood went over to Roy as the others mounted. "There are two long roads ahead of us. Unfortunately, we have to walk them without each other." Eliwood smiled bitterly. "But you have Mikhail and Lilina, and I have my knights. We will not be alone...Just, promise me that you won't get hurt."

"Father!" Roy chided. "I am simply going to the Lycian League. I'll be back soon, and then I'll write by carrier pidgeon to you."

"I hope that happens, son."

Roy was left little time to stare and ponder his father's words. "Roy!" Lilina prodded, "Aren't we going to leave?"

"Oh, ah, yes, of course." With that, Roy raised his sword and pointed it west. "To Ostia!"

The rest of the group chorused behind him, and then charged off through the gates and into the night.

Eliwood looked longingly after them, his face wet with tears. "Farewell, my son...until we meet again."


	6. Five: Dark Words, Dark Skies

_My chapters are getting longer, but my author's notes are getting shorter...perhaps it is because I tire of them? If you need me to tell you that I don't own any part of Fire Emblem...I am running out of mocking names to call you. But I mock you, do not doubt._

_Five: Dark Words, Dark Skies

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_

After two weeks of hard riding, Roy, Lilina, and their companions were still three days from Ostia. The road had been difficult, as they had decided to cross the Central Range to save time, only to get caught in a thunderstorm and seek shelter in roadside caves. Now they were near the Etrurian border, camped a league off the road in a forest clearing. Though the campfire gave off plenty of light, the darkness of the new moon felt oppressive. Roy, for one, did not like it.

He looked up at the sky. The stars were not even shining. A brooding storm that seemed to follow them since they had left the mountains shadowed the already dark night. Roy had never been afraid of the dark, but the gathering storm made him uneasy.

His eyes turned to his companions around the campfire. Rebecca was sitting on a blanket oiling the arrows she had taken from her quiver. Her green hair looked brown in the firelight, but when she looked at Roy, her green eyes always sparkled. Lowen sat between Rebecca and Lilina, telling the raven-haired girl stories of the Second Scouring, letting Rebecca interject when his retellings got out of hand. Victor had gone off some time ago to get more firewood. Roy thought he should have been back by now. Victor confused him. At times he laughed with the group, but at other times he was distant and lonely, his eyes smoldering with some cool fire that was unknown to Roy. He shuddered. Victor reminded him too much of a thunderstorm.

"Hah! Point for me!" Zechary and Phillip's swords rang out in the silent night as they fenced. Roy turned to watch the young swordsmen. They were impeccably good swordfighters, especially when they fought each other. Roy looked on in awe as their blaze of the fire reflected on their swords arcing and slashing. Suddenly, Zechary's sword got under Phillip's counter and touched his breastplate with a gigantic clang.

"Honestly, Phillip. Are you even trying?" Zechary laughed and changed to guard position again.

"Yes, and you beat me again." Phillip stabbed his sword into the ground and sat on the wet grass. "I'm done for the night."

Zechary shrugged, then looked at Roy with shining blue eyes. Throwing his hair out of his face with a flick of his head, he said, "Roy! Why don't you fence me?"

"Me?" Roy wasn't sure it was such a good idea. He had fenced with the guard before, sure...but Zechary and Phillip were so good!

"Come on! I'll take it easy on you!" Zechary threw his shield to the ground. "I won't even use my shield."

Roy shrugged. Lilina gave him a wide eyed smile, pleading him to do it. Roy sighed and got out his normal sword. It didn't feel right to practice with the sword his father had given him. That blade lay sleeping in his saddlebag, wrapped in a burlap canvas.

Facing Zechary in the clearing, Roy stood still in guard position, waiting for Zechary to attack first. Though he wasn't visibly shaking, his mind was racing, thinking about all the sword maneuvers his father and Lowen had taught him in his training.

Suddenly Zechary's sword lashed out, and Roy's was there to meet the strike. Quickly he countered, but Zechary stepped out of the way and thrust again, a tactic Roy countered with ease.

They attacked and parried and lunged and hacked for what seemed like hours. Soon sweat was dripping from Roy's brow and stinging as it met his focused eyes. His travel clothes were soaked through, but–he noticed with satisfaction–so were Zechary's.

"What do you say, Roy? Next point takes all?" Zechary was panting for breath, but Roy was merely winded.

"All right. Next point." Roy smiled and lunged.

Zechary barely had time to dodge that blow, and the next one he barely managed to parry. He sword slipped in his grip, and he slipped on the dew-soaked grass. Roy stepped and swung forcefully toward the ground, just as Zechary rolled up and countered, throwing himself forward in a gigantic leaping thrust.

His father used this tactic all the time, so Roy knew exactly how to defend against it. Roy raised his sword and slid under Zechary, blocking his strike, then turned and sliced behind him with his sword. Steel met leather, and a great tear was heard. Zechary's backplate split in two and fell to the ground. Roy stood and smiled. "My point takes. Good match."

Zechary couldn't shake an incredulous smile as he shook the young prince's hand. He had always thought royals were weak swordsmen, but Roy had proved him wrong. Perhaps he wouldn't have to babysit the prince when it came time to fight, after all.

The clouds above the clearing began to disperse, and the light of the stars shone bright in the moonless night. Mikhail emerged from the clearing looking tired but awake. "Who won the swordfight?"

"Our young prince," said Victor, as he too emerged from the trees carrying a load of firewood. "I must say, it sounded like quite a fight. You could've heard those clashes from a league away." He gave Roy a hard look as he said those last words.

"Sorry. I forgot we could be watched. It was my fault." Zechary was sitting by the fire now, watching as Rebecca sewed his leather practice armor back together.

Victor muttered indifferently and took a place by the fire as well. Mikhail walked over to Roy and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry. I doubt anyone is following us already. At least, I cannot sense anyone with magical power in the area." Mikhail smiled.

"What were you doing, in the trees?" It was Lilina who spoke now. She had been watching Rebecca sew, but she obviously found Roy and Mikhail's conversation more interesting. "I mean, not to intrude, of course. I just..."

"Haven't met a magic user before?" Mikhail offered.

Lilina nodded. Roy noticed her eyes glittering in the starlight, and his heart almost skipped a beat.

"It's okay." Mikhail's warm smile was reassuring. Roy rarely met anyone at House Pherae whose smile was so inviting. "I was meditating and re-reading my books of magic."

"You have to re-read them?" Lilina looked concerned, and confused. "Why do you have to do that? Don't you get bored with them?"

Mikhail laughed. "I don't get bored with them, no. Particularly since they never quite say the same thing twice." Roy didn't think such a thing was possible, but he somehow believed it because it came from Mikhail. "Also, because magic has a way of...forgetting itself. It's always there, but I just have to remind myself of the spells every now and again. Does that make sense?"

"Not really..." Lilina was obviously not convinced, but she smiled and bid Roy goodnight. Then she bowed to Mikhail and ran off for her tent.

"Could I see one of your books?" Roy asked. They sounded quite interesting, and he had only seen them in the presence of the court mages, who were testy and didn't like a young prince intruding into their higher plane of existence.

"I suppose. You won't be able to read it, anyway...or open it, for that matter." Mikhail set his pack on the ground and rummaged around in it. Finally, his hand emerged clutching a book bound in green leather and clasped with tarnished bronze. As Mikhail handed it to him, Roy thought it shimmered in the starlight. But as he held it in his hands, he could see that there were markings crawling on the leather surface. He gasped. They were moving at a good pace, but he tried to make them out anyway.

"They're written in the language of magic. You won't be able to read it," Mikhail said matter-of-factly. Roy scowled and stared at the markings. Somewhere in his mind, he was aware of some kind of knowledge that was fighting to rise to the surface. He tried without success to probe it for information, but he couldn't seem to reach it. Sighing, he handed the book back to Mikhail. "I can't read it...but I can't help feeling like it's familiar."

Mikhail's eyes darkened, and he stared at Roy. "That's odd," he said with some sort of finality, and left Roy wondering what he had meant.

Roy looked back up to the sky again, searching for some sort of answer to this suddenly nagging question. He stared at the stars, and suddenly, some of them blacked out. He blinked and looked again. Whatever it was, the shadow was getting bigger, which meant it was getting closer. "Mikhail! There's something flying towards us!"

The mage turned to the sky and put on a monocle that he had hidden in a pocket of his robes. There was no magic aura from the shadow, but the magnification of the glass told him it was a winged beast. "Damn," he said, and sat down his pack. "I didn't think would have to deal with the wyverns so soon. Lowen!"

The knight stood and looked to where Mikhail was pointing. Swearing loudly, he called for Lilina. Rebecca nocked an arrow and pointed it at the sky, squinting to see better in the darkness. The sparks that crackled on Mikhail's fingers as he muttered a spell were the only sounds breaking the silence as they waited for their attacker to get in range.

Roy had run to his pack and drawn the unnamed sword. For some reason, he felt safer with its mysterious blade in his hand. He stood between Lilina–who bore a javelin that she favored in practices–and the twins, swords in hand. They stood still, hoping that their enemy would not see them.

The shadow was still getting closer when Lilina whispered, "Roy...do you hear that? It sounds like someone shouting from far away."

Roy listened. Sure enough, he heard a distant cry. It didn't sound like a war cry, though. It sounded like...

"Feria!" Mikhail shouted from behind them, and ran forward.

"What are you doing, mage?" Lowen hissed. "Do you want to get us all killed?"

"Wait." Rebecca was still squinting, but she had lowered her bow. "It's not a wyvern...it's a Peg Knight!"

"I know that voice," Mikhail insisted, running to the edge of the clearing, banishing the flashing sparks from his hands. "Feria!"

The magnificent winged horse came to a graceful rest in front of the group. Her rider had long pink hair bound with silver circlets and loops that matched her silver armor, which was etched with a winged horse and a willow tree–the crest of Ilia. Her voice and face were etched with concern as she dismounted and embraced Mikhail. "Mikhail! Thank the Gods I found you! I got to Pherae a day after you left, and the Marquess told me the road you were taking." A tear slid down her cheek. "Oh, Mikhail. It's awful! Bern has attack Meroven Keep!"

Mikhail's face went ashen. "They wouldn't dare!"

Feria sobbed. "It's true. The army attacked all six gates at the same time, and each army is led by a powerful Druid. All the masters at Reglay have been trying to hold them off, but it's a losing battle." She wiped her eyes. "Lord Pent is considering joining the fight himself."

"No! He musn't!" Mikhail yelled. "Oh, this is horrible, Feria!" He looked at Roy. "Roy, I am sorry, but I really must leave for Meroven. The castle...and Lord Pent, they need protecting."

"I understand, Mikhail." Roy looked at Lowen, who gave him a questioning glance. Then he addressed Mikhail. "If it would help, I will take some of my company with you to help defend Meroven." Roy knew this wasn't the plan, but something told him that he had to do all he could to help. That, and the nagging questions about the recent events that pervaded his thoughts.

"But, Lord Roy...someone must report this news to the Lycian League," Lowen said.

"I know, Lowen." Roy looked at Lilina, who was already staring at him with her crimson eyes.

"I will go, Roy," she whispered softly. "You can go with Mikhail. I will report to my father and ask for reinforcements for Meroven." She smiled. "I'll meet you at the city."

He gripped her arms. "You can't go alone. Take Lowen with you." He turned and nodded to Lowen, who bowed and mounted his horse.

"Be careful, Roy."

"You too, Lilina."

The two nobles hugged, and Lilina mounted her horse. With a parting stare and a whisper of "goodbye", Lilina and Lowen rode off towards Ostia.

"We must hurry, Prince Roy. The enemy is gaining ground by the moment." Feria had her winged steed again. "If it is your Majesty's wish, Mikhail and I can fly ahead and notify Lord Pent of your arrival."

"That is fine. Go now, swiftly." Roy bowed to Feria. Mikhail mounted the pegasus too, and they lifted off with a rush of wind, flying off into the night.

"My lord, your horse." Phillip handed Roy the reins, and he mounted his own horse as Roy did. Rebecca, Zechary, and Victor followed suit.

"Let us ride for Meroven. Come! To Etruria's aid!"

As they galloped northward, Roy looked up to the sky and couldn't help feeling a chill crawl down his spine. The stormclouds had once again gathered, and lightning splintered them with a ghastly glow. He sighed as the clouds tore asunder and dumped rain on the travelers. It was going to be a long ride.


	7. Six: An Embattled Land

_Welcome to the sixth chapter of my Fire Emblem story, now with another viewpoint! Yes, I did split up my main twosome. Cry me a river. It happens in every single FE game anyway! (Insert disclaimer here)_

_Six: An Embattled Land

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_

Three days later, Roy and his companions stood in battle armor on a hill overlooking the war-torn city of Meroven. The city's whitestone walls were stained with soot and blood, and bodies dressed in the gold and scarlet of the Meroven Guared were strewn everywhere. Smoke billowed from the sections of the city that were still burning, but the city largely seemed deserted. Only the north end of the city was alive with activity.

There, on a high plateau, stood the twin castles Reglay and Meroven–the former an illustrious school of magic, the latter a former ruling house of Etruria. Reglay's dark marble walls could barely be seen for the dark pall cast over the city by a never-ending thunderstorm that raged in the sky. Meroven, in stunning white marble, looked far worse. Fire licked the windows of the first story, and the armies of Bern–dressed in black–swarmed around it's gates. Roy thought it looked like they had yet to break down the gates, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Flames, lightning, and flash snowstorms flew from the walls and parapets of both castles as the mages defended their castles from the invaders. Roy wanted to help them, but he had been told by a messenger to wait on the hilltop for further guidance from Feria. He simply stood, sword drawn, flanked by the others, waiting anxiously.

Presently a speck of white burst from the storm, and Roy rushed to the edge of the hill to meet Feria. The Pegasus Knight landed at the cliff's edge and pointed to the near road. "Hurry, knights of Pherae. This road will take you into a secret tunnel. It will lead you to great Hall in Reglay. Mikhail and Pent are waiting for you there." She took a silver pendant from round her neck and put it on Roy's. "This is a key that will allow you to enter the tunnel." He whispered to her steed, and its powerful wings began beating, raising it and its rider into the air. "Hurry. You are needed!" With that, she flew off towards the rumbling storm and thunder of war.

"You heard her. Come on!" Roy led the way as they descended onto the road. It wasn't really a road at all, Roy and his friends discovered. The road, instead of cutting down the face in a zigzag motion–as most normal roads did–took a direct route down the cliff, and was quite steep. Zechary and Phillip belted their shields to their backs to descend cleanly.

Victor was the first to stumble on the way, slicing his knee on an unusual rock that jutted out from the dirt like a knife would a loaf of bread. Roy's hands were scratched up, but Rebecca was light on her feet and managed the downward climb without a scratch.

Finally, they all stood in front of a stone door that was well hidden by two trees. In fact, Roy hadn't even seen the trees from the cliff. He suspected magic, but didn't voice his opinions. In the center of the door was an circular hole, surrounded by carvings of the moon and several constellations that Roy did not recognize.

"That seems to be a diagram of the seasons," Rebecca said. "It describes the movement and phases of the moon. What symbol is on the key you have?"

Roy looked at the emblem. It had a sun emblazoned on it, with a mirror on the inside of the central sphere. "A sun," he said, and placed it in the hole. Light pierced the mirror and exploded brilliantly in Roy's eyes, making him cover them with his hands. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Roy put down his hands and saw that the door was gone, replaced by an ominous set of stairs that led into blackness.

"Well, come on then," Victor said, and the others followed him down the stairs. Rebecca lit a torch she found near the entrance, and she took the lead in the damp passageway. Moss grew in cracks in the masonry, and water dripped every so often from fissures in the ceiling not sealed by the thirsty moss. Ancient timbers held up the ceiling, but in some places they looked unsettlingly weak.

Still, they pressed on for a while, until they reached a tall staircase. Groaning and cursing stairs, Roy led the way this time. At the top of the stairs was a dark curtain. The companions could hear the sounds of battle far in the distance, but the only sounds on the other side of the fabric were the voices of two men. Roy sheathed his sword and threw aside the tapestry.

They emerged in the great Hall of Castle Reglay, as Feria had said they would. Only it was less grand than Roy had expected. Where the Hall of Pherae had frescoes of heroes, villians and dragons leaping from the ceiling, here there were only lines of verse and poetry written in the same language as Mikhail's spellbook. In fact, Roy thought as he wrinkled his nose, the whole place smelled like musty books.

In the center of the room, a long mahogany table stretched the length of the Hall, and sitting at its end were Mikhail and a gaunt figure dressed in pale lavender and bright turquoise robes. Roy bowed. "Lord Pent, I am honored."

"As am I, Prince of Pherae." The elderly Sage's sapphire eyes glittered as he bowed, letting his longish turquoise hair fall and shield his face. He got up blowing it out of his face and shrugging. "Accursed barbers." He went on mumbling until Mikhail placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, yes. Have a seat, all of you! Come!"

The companions seated themselves at the table, and Mikhail poured them all cups of mulled cider. "Better for you than wine. Keeps you awake," insisted Pent. The others shrugged and drank it. Mikhail sipped his anxiously, waiting for the business to begin.

"I am glad you've come, Roy, but I am hesitant to deploy you and your friends. Though you were generous in coming to the aid of your friend," he glared at Mikhail, "our defenses are holding up well."

"How fares Meroven Keep?" asked Phillip.

"Not as well as we do, that is for certain." Mikhail walked up to the north wall and pulled on a gold rope that fell from the ceiling. A tapestry fell to the floor, spreading out over the wall. "This is a diagram of the plateau." He whispered some arcane words, and specks of gold, black, and turquoise began moving on the map's surface. "These are our mages, in turquoise, the Meroven Guard in gold, and the Bern forces in black. The gates of Meroven Keep are holding up for now, but our Seers have seen a battering ram breaking it down at some point."

"They have also seen ballistae, so the Pegasus Knight squad that Ilia sent have been flying in the storm so as not to attract the attention of them." Pent flicked his fingers at the map, and four red pieces appeared on the map in the streets of the Upper City. "The six Druid generals haven't been seen since the taking of the Wall, but our Seers have seen them in an abandoned building in the Lower City." His voice was grave. "It is only a matter of time before they themselves attack Reglay, and then we may fall. Our magic is not strong enough to combat the darkness those abominations wield."

"We should go the aid of Meroven Keep," Roy said. "I assume there is some sort of secret tunnel, yes?"

Lord Pent gave a wry smile. "Yes. I will let Mikhail direct you to it." He sighed and sat in his chair. "For now, I must wait for news from the wall."

"Get your armor ready, Roy. I will go with you, if I may?" Mikhail looked at Pent. Pent nodded. "Excellent. Let us hurry." Mikhail ushered the companions out of the Hall, wiggled the nose on a strange bust in the Commons, and led them down a dark stairwell.

"Not again," sighed Roy as he descended.

(&)

Lilina and Lowen could see Ostia now in the distance, gleaming like a black jewel in the afternoon sun. Still, they were a good distance off, and the road narrowed and broke through an ancient forest. "Come, Lilina. We must hurry," said Lowen, and urged his horse into the dark forest. Lilina followed suit, grumbling.

For a while, all was silent save the rumbling of their horses' footsteps. Then a cry rang out, and two men robed in black jumped from the trees.

Lowen drew his sword and pierced one through the chest as he descended. Throwing the body off his bloody blade, he shouted to Lilina, "Arm yourself! There are two behind you!"

She dismounted and sent the horse running to Ostia. A royal horse arriving at the gates riderless would alert the Guard. She twirled her lance in front of her as the two goons ran towards her, wicked swords gleaming in the flickering sunlight. She swung and connected with the one on the right, who fell to the ground with a bleeding head, moaning. The other jumped at her, and she hit him with the blunt end in the stomach. He doubled over as she hit him again on the back and sent him crashing to the ground.

Lowen blocked a sword swipe from behind, hitting the poor man with his shield. His sword parried two good swipes from another assassin, then faltered against a upward strike. He cursed himself for his lack of skill with a blade as he raised his shield and blocked another strike. He looked at Lilina.

The noble was fending for herself with grace. She leaped over one fighter and ran him through the back, then hit another in front of her in the stomach. She pulled her bloody lance from the fallen assassin and swung it round, only to have it rebound off of a helmet. She fell to her knees in pain. Her right arm was screaming in pain.

"My lady, look out!" Lowen shouted.

Lilina ducked just as an axe came flying from the roadside. A big, tough looking brute who was missing several teeth stood there with a gleaming axe bared. "Who dares to kill my men?" His eyes fell on Lilina, scarlet eyes wide in fright and pain. "Ye, noble! Ye'll pay for this!" He raised his axe and hurtled towards her with a bloodcurdling scream.

She raised her lance to block, but her lance burst to splinters, and the impact sent her flying off the road. She hit the dirt and rolled into the bushes, brambles tearing at her clothes and skin. "Cursed forests," she said.

Lowen bashed another warrior on the head with his shield, then dismounted and faced the brute. "How dare you hit a lady!"

The man gyrated mockingly. "And what'r ye goin' ta do 'bout it, eh lad?"

Lowen lowered his shield and raised his sword. "You will die today, fiend!" And he charged.

The brute fumbled for a hand axe as the knight came charging at him. Grabbing hold of it, he tossed it at Lowen. He blocked it with his shield and continued the charge. Grinning toothlessly, the bandit raised his axe.

"Lowen, duck under him," Lilina yelled. Lowen did as he was told, praying to the Gods that Lilina knew what she was doing.

The bandit felt an arrow of pain drive through his spine and fly out his belly. He stared down and saw with his last breath the head of Lilina's lance protruding from his stomach.

She let go of it and went pale as the man fell stiffly to the road, a red pool ever widening on the rough stones. Her wide eyes flickered distantly from the body to her own bloody hands.

"If you need to be sick, Lilina, don't let me discourage you. I did so after my first battle, too."

Lilina nodded and threw up on the roadside, well clear of the bandit's bodies. She returned looking better, but her face was still ashen. "I never...never thought it would be this bad."

Lowen nodded. "War is hell, Lady Lilina. War is hell."

(&)

Roy ducked behind a parapet as a volley of arrows whizzed over his head. He and the rest of his companions were on the wall of Meroven Keep to survey the battlefield. They had to be careful, though, because the walls were under constant fire from Bern's archers.

"See. They lose another soldier every volley, and we lose a student." Mikhail shook his head. "I never thought the war would come to Etruria."

"I have a feeling that this, this, Bearoth," Rebecca finally spat, "has some kind of grudge against Lord Pent. That is the only reason I can think of for him to attack Etruria."

"Or he simply wants to spread out the front. If I were a general, that's what I would do," Zechary said, and Phillip and Victor nodded in agreement.

Roy sighed and thought of Lilina, wishing that her ride to Ostia did not involve war like his did. His thoughts were interrupted when a scout yelled out, "Wyverns! The wyverns are coming!"

Roy stood and looked into the darkness. Sure enough, dragon-like shadows were forming in the fog. Roy cursed the gods of luck, saying they despised him and took his away.

"Stand aside, Prince Roy. This is my time." Rebecca smiled grimly and nocked her bow. She squinted and took aim quickly, loosing her arrow with incredible speed. A dragon cry was heard, and one of the shadows dropped from sight.

Mikhail took a pendant from his robe and held it, whispering words of magic. Roy recognized the emblem as that of Ilia. Hopefully, Roy thought, he was calling Feria and her fellow knights to the keep.

Suddenly, a hideous wyvern broke through the fog. Its eyes were ferocious and burned coal black, a contrast to its fiery red scales that reminded Roy–disgustingly so, it always made him vomit to look at it–of the brimstone in his father's treasure hall. This one was obviously in a foul mood. It whipped its tail around and smashed the wall viciously, sending the soldiers standing there falling to their gruesome deaths. The rider called something, and three men jumped off the dragon's back and onto the wall, swords drawn.

"We'll handle this, Roy. Stay here and guard Rebecca." Zechary and Phillip drew swords and shields and charged the group in a flurry of flying steel.

Rebecca let loose another arrow. It connected with the wyvern's eye, which exploded in black blood. The dragon screamed and plummeted to the ground, flattening a few Bern soldiers upon landing.

Mikhail whispered words of magic and flung his hand at a shadow-dragon. "Elfire!" Blood-red fire shot from his burning hand, consuming the shadow with red fury and leaving behind a trail of sickening black smoke.

Another wyvern smashed the wall and let a horde of Bern soldiers off. Victor drew two axes and looked at Roy. "Shall we, my Lord?" Then he took off with a war cry that sounding like a screaming crow.

Roy smiled grimly and drew the nameless sword, following Victor. The first fighter to meet his blade was sent flying from the wall into the courtyard. Two others stood in front of him, pointing their swords at him and laughing. "Look at him. He's just a little noble runt."

Roy's eyes blazed, and he charged with a roar. The soldiers, taken aback, tried in vain to block his furious slashes. Crimson jets spurted from body-length slashes as they tumbled off the wall.

Victor axed two soldiers in the back, then beheaded an unfortunate soldier with both axes. He shrugged and ran off to defend against the next wave, ducking as Mikhail sent bolts of lightning streaking over his head. They tore at and scorched another wyvern, and it fell from the sky.

"Charge, Knights of Ilia!" Feria shouted as her brigade arrived and charged into the thick of the battle. She flew down to where Mikhail was standing. "Can you do something about those archers down there? My knights can't take that kind of fire!"

Mikhail nodded and summoned lightning to his palm. Sparks jumped and gathered at his fingertips as he uttered the command word: "Bolting!" A great bolt flashed from the sky, scorching the earth and destroying the Bern archer brigade. Feria smiled grimly and hewed the head off a wyvern rider.

Zechary and Phillip worked in tandem, fighting back to back as their father had taught them. Phillip cut two down with a low swipe, and Zechary hit one across the face with his shield, breaking the soldier's nose in a fountain of blood. Suddenly, Zechary saw a wyvern rider streaking in from the corner of his eye. Without pausing, he ran another soldier through and called to Rebecca. The archer took aim and pierced the wyvern through the neck. The dragon screeched and fell onto the wall, sliding down the wall on its thick scales towards the twin warriors: a scaly missile of death.

"Phillip," Zechary ordered over the din of battle, "be ready to jump."

"Of course, Zech." Phillip waited for his brother's nod, then he and his brother launched into twin flips as the downed wyvern careened through another brigade of Bern soldiers, under the twins, crashed into another wyvern at the end of the wall, and fell tangled to earth. The twins smiled and rushed another band.

Victor and Roy had moved to the center of the wall. A particulary strong group of soldiers had them on the defensive, forcing them to give ground and parry incessantly. Roy tried to take the advantage, but only managed to inflict minor wounds. They were running out of options, he knew.

"Roy!" Mikhail's voice resounded in his head. "Duck and roll backward! Now! Then spring up like you did against Lilina in your school tournament."

Roy looked at Victor, who gave him a confused nod. Apparently Mikhail had invaded his mind, too. Without hesitating, the two rolled backward.

The soldiers were surprised for a moment before balls of fire reduced them to smoldering corpses. Roy and Victor rebounded from their rolls and cut down them and the next rank of soldiers.

Over the clashing and clanging, someone yelled: "Look! The wyverns are retreating! We beat them!"

The Meroven Guard continued cheering and watching the shadows fly away, but Roy and Victor exchanged dark looks in silence. They knew all too well that the setting sun would only bring more trouble for the embattled castle.


	8. Seven: On the Defensive

_Hello again. Sorry about the wait for the update. It would have been up this weekend, but the site decided to be annoying and not work. Go figure. So, yeah. I guess you could call this a filler chapter, though I promise that nothing in my stories is ever unimportant--except for incidental dialogue, such as that of Serra in this chapter. By the way, thank you to my reviewers. Please continue to review, and if you have not already done so, please make a comment about some element of my story that I might work on, besides inconsistencies with Fuuin no Tsurugi. I don't care that it's different; I think it's awesome. This chapter is, in case you ignored my last author's note, about Eliwood, and some surprise guests. And I don't own any of it--Nintendo and Intelligent Systems do a fine job with it. _

**_Seven: On the Defensive

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Eliwood awakened just as the sun was rising over the bleak stone parapets of Shellak Keep. Rubbing his eyes and standing up, he began his morning stretches. In addition to giving his circadian rhythyms a jump-start, they kept his aging muscles in decent shape. He sighed as he bent over to touch his toes, finding once again that he was incapable of doing so. He flopped back down on his bed. "Growing old is a pain," he said aloud, and laughed bitterly. His age hadn't yet kept him from keeping up with his son, but he was living with the knowledge that it soon would.

Hearing the clink of metal behind him, he grabbed his sword off the table, unsheathed it, and spun around in one fluid motion.

A soft laugh caused him to lower his sword. Lady Lyndis was standing in the doorway, sword hanging from her belt and a bow and quiver strapped to her back. "Practicing the sword in your bedroom...I would have thought you wouldn't need a refresher course by now, old friend."

Eliwood smiled, dropped his sword, and embraced his friend. "Thanks for coming, Lyn. It means the world to me. Really, it does."

She smiled, and her green eyes sparkled. "Is Roy back at the palace, or is he finally ready to fight alongside dear old dad?"

At this, Eliwood's face was grave, and he turned away from Lyn. "No, he is not with me. He and Hector's daughter, Lilina, are going back to Ostia. Hector can better take care of them there." He quickly donned a regal purple tunic and gold breeches, then clasped a scarlet and purple cape over his shoulders. As he turned back to Lyn, he tied his rapier to his belt. "I don't want my son to be a warrior, like I was...like I became. No, I want him to be a good ruler, a ruler of a peaceful Pherae." He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them and stared deeply into Lyn's eyes. "That is why I fight again. To end the fighting."

She smiled sympathetically, put a hand on his shoulder, and walked out of the room with him.

As they walked down the hall, he asked her, "How fare the plains of Sacae? I trust they are quite fine, or else they would not have let their warrior-lady leave them, hmm?"

Lyn's eyes grew sad, and she pulled away from her friend. "Can we talk about it later, Eliwood? I...I just can't, right now."

Eliwood nodded. "Sure." They spent the rest of the walk to the Inn's common room in somber silence, neither wanting to say a word.

Finally, they reached the Inn's common room. Eliwood and Lyn's faces instantly brightened. It smelled heavenly; the Inn's cook was apparently also an excellent baker, for the cavernous space smelled of bread and spices. But that was not the only reason the two were smiling.

At the lone populated table in the center of the common room sat six people, oblivious to the two that had just walked in. Eliwood and Lyn were pleased to see Kent, Matthew, and Rath poring over a map and devouring a steaming loaf of bread at the far end of the table. Serra, dressed in her regal white and pink robes, was conversing loudly with Lucius, who seemed quite overwhelmed by the boisterous cleric. Only Harken, who was sitting at the end of the table facing Eliwood and Lyn, appeared to see them. He at once stood and bowed. "My lord, my lady."

The others turned to see the lords, and Serra jumped up and squealed. "Eliwood! And Lyn!" She rushed over and gave them both a giant hug, which was more like a flying tackle. "It's been too long, you know," she scolded them. "Why haven't you come to see me in Ostia? All of these official visits you take, and I see your son–a fine young man, handsome as can be, by the way–all the time, but you never stop by the Guild to talk with me, and I'm very disappointed in you, Eliwood." Before anyone could interrupt her, she turned to Lyn and said, "Don't worry, I'm not mad that you haven't come to see me. After all that happened in Sacae, I'm actually surprised–"

Matthew clasped a hand over the Serra's mouth, much to the cleric's protest. "I'm so sorry, my lady. She just gets excited to see you all, and she forgets mind her tongue."

Lyn blushed and Eliwood gave her a questioning look, but she ignored him and sat down at the table with the others. Troubled, Eliwood took a seat opposite her, beside Kent. "Good to see you, Kent. How has my army treated you?"

Kent laughed heartily and embraced his lord. "It is always a pleasure to serve such a caring leader, my lord. The army is in much better spirits than they were in your father's reign, the Gods rest his soul," he added somberly.

Eliwood went silent for a moment at the mention of his father. Kent had forgotten that, no matter how long ago it was, the wound left by the death of Eliwood's father would never fully heal.

Finally, Eliwood took a slice of bread from the tray at the center of the table and regarded the map. "Where do we stand?"

"As you well know, my lord, Shellak stands at the crossroads of two mountain trails coming from Bern." Harken drew a knife from his belt and pointed at four points along the city's perimeter. "These are the four iron gates that bar the entrance to the city. There are also wooden doors in front of the gates, and there is a moat surrounding the entire wall."

"Unfortunately," Matthew chimed in cheerily, "the drawbridges can't be raised. The chain mechanism has long since rusted away, and none of the city's blacksmiths can do the job. I already asked."

"Why haven't the mechanisms already been fixed? The last war was only 20 years ago! Didn't Lord Barak have the city's defences prepared then," Lyn asked, incredulous at the lord's dangerous oversight.

"No, he didn't," Kent explained, "because there was never any threat of invasion. Remember, we battled the Black Fang on that godforsaken isle and in Bern, but rarely on our home turf."

"And," Matthew added, "he claims that we notified him of the imminent invasion too late for him to make preparations. Now, he claims that it's our job to defend the city." He turned to Eliwood and said, "He's given you command of the city's garrison, but he's fled for shelter in Santaruz. The Marquess is his third cousin, or something like that. He didn't tell me that, of course, but I heard it." He smiled slyly at this mention of his true work–a spy and a thief. Strategy and planning were the job of the knights and the lords. Alas, though, one learned quite a bit of war strategy when keeping company with ruling lords.

While Eliwood and the knights were discussing the battlefield preparations, Lyn, Lucius and Serra were talking about the supporting affairs.

"Well, I've managed to round up most of the healers in the city, but they're pathetically inferior to moi, of course," Serra chattered vainly. "Since I arrived a week ago, I've been teaching them some advanced healing techniques, supplying them with holy staves, all sorts of things that battlefiled clerics needed. In fact, I just consecrated three girls into the Clerical Guild today. I'll be bringing them back to HQ in Ostia after the battle, so they can be officially accepted into the Guild. After all, only the head bishop can perform the true rite, but I tried my hardest to make it as real as I could for the girls. I even made my language all fancy, like 'Thee, thou, thine, thumb,' you know, that kind of stuff," and she continued on and on, oblivious to the fact that Lyn and Lucius were no longer listening to her.

"It is good to see you in good health, Lyndis," Lucius said warmly. "I heard about the tragedy in Sacae, and my heart was broken for your country."

Lyn hastily glanced at Eliwood to make sure he wasn't listening to them, and leaned closer to Lucius. "Please keep your voice down. Eliwood hasn't heard the news yet, and...I'd rather him not hear it, for now."

"But, my lady," Lucius protested quietly, "why have you not yet told him. I know he would understand."

Before Lyn could explain herself, Eliwood turned and said casually, "So, Lucius, what were you and Lyn talking about?"

Lucius looked sadly at Lyn, then said, "We were just discussing evacuation routes for the citizens. They need to be able to escape before the city is laid siege."

Relieved, Lyn added, "Yes, and Serra was just telling me about the army of clerics she has assembled to support the army."

"What!" Serra threw up her hands exasperatedly. "I talked about that ages ago! You mean you haven't been listening to me this whole time!"

An awkward silence fell over the room, until Matthew chimed in, "What about magic users, my lords? From what I have gathered, each prong of Bern's army is led by a powerful Druid. Supposedly there are seven of these generals, chief among them being Bearoth, who appears to be a–"

"Yes, Lucius, have you found any magic users in the city to aid us?" Eliwood said hastily, cutting Matthew off. Lyn glared accusingly at Eliwood, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Well," Lucius began warily, unsure if either Eliwood or Lyn would interrupt him at any moment, "I did speak with the head of the Magician Guild chapter here. There aren't many of them here, though the few that are are quite capable. Most of their students are currently studying at Lord Pent's school in Etruria. Unfortunately, they have heard reports that the capital, where the school is located, is under attack by Bern's forces, so the Head Sage doubted that they would return any time soon."

A look of shock crossed Eliwood's face as he comprehended this information. "Etruria is under attack? But–but Bern's armies would have had to cross Sacae to get there..." Horrible realization resounded in his mind, and he turned to Lyn. "What happened to Sacae? What haven't you told me?"

Faced with the accusation, Lyn was just about to stammer a reply when the door of the inn burst open, and a sweating herald staggered into the room. "My Lord Eliwood," he panted. "The-they're here. Bern's army. They've just been spotted. They will be here by dusk."


	9. Eight: Coven of Darkness

_Hello again, readers! I apologize for being gone from this story for so long, but...I had writer's block on it. Yeah, it sucks. But, I decided to play FE again, and, LO! my writer's block disappeared! So I wrote this chapter, and it's rather foreboding. oOo...Plus, it reveals a little bit of the mystery behind some of the events a few of you reviewers have been questioning..._

_If you read this, please review it. Please. I beg of you. The more reviews you have, the more reviews you get. If you read it, you should review it, no matter what you thought of it. I appreciate all kinds of criticism. That's my speech for today._

_...Oh, and if you think I own Fire Emblem...you are sorely mistaken. I only wish I owned it. That way I could make Lyn fall in love with Eliwood and not Hector. Oh, wait, I'm doing that with this fanfic...never mind! XD_

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**Eight: Coven of Darkness**

"...and of the battalions that were deployed at sunset, only three have returned somewhat intact, and none of those were wyvern rider talons. Your druids, sir, were doing quite well, but for some reason they are having trouble entering the Castle. They told me to tell you something about a barrier shield, sir."

Bearoth did not look up from his maps. He was staring at the plans he had made, the perfect plans to destroy the capital of Etruria, to destroy the heirs of both Etruria and Nabata at the same time. It had been a perfect plan, but Bearoth had forgotten to factor one thing into his plans–the inexcusable stupidity of humans. Without question, there was no doubt, every loss he had suffered was because of his own soldiers' carelessness and reckless abandon. And it didn't help that his commanding officers were just as human as their soldiers, but more timid than mice in his presence. He had half a mind to create Morph soldiers to replace them, but he was not as genius an artist as his master had been. No, he would be forced to trudge along the path of destiny with frail humans trailing in his dust.

"Sir? Sir?" One of Bearoth's officers, a General Cornvale, whispered, staring at Bearoth as if he expected the High Druid to respond to his pathetic report. The General had come to Bearoth highly recommended by General Murdock–now he saw the true value of such a recommendation. He would have to discuss this with Murdock at their next rendezvous.

Bearoth looked up at Cornvale, his golden eyes smoldering. "What did you want from me? Did you expect congratulations for having three battalions intact, instead of your previous record of zero! Did you expect sympathy after that weak lordling decimated your army? Did you want a poultice for a little cut you received while staring stupidly as your company got mowed down by neophyte mages?"

"N-n-no, sir," Cornvale stammered. "I came to you to...to..."

Before Cornvale could comprehend it, Bearoth's powerful hand was clasped around his neck, and he was being thrown backward, crashing into a table and shattering it.

"Answer me, wretch!" Bearoth said, his voice bubbling over with rage.

"Lord Bearoth, sir...please, I beg of you..."

For what seemed like an eternity to Cornvale, he sat, watching Bearoth, waiting for the High Druid to destroy him with his powerful magic. Then, unexpectedly, the Golem's eyes cooled, and Bearoth smoothed his robes and hair. Then, he stared at Cornvale, who was still sitting in shock, expecting every breath he took to be his last. "I do feel sorry for you, General Cornvale," Bearoth said cooly.

"Y–you do?" Cornvale said, attempting to rise.

"Of course I do." Suddenly Bearoth was there, extending his hand, helping the General rise. "Being a General of the Bern army must put a lot of stress on you."

"I...I suppose so, sir."

Bearoth nodded, his look grave. "Of course it does, much more so than battle does the average soldier. After all, you are the last one in your battalion to be deployed. You must get horrible chest pains as you watch your soldiers, some of whom you have watched from birth, get cut down by the enemy–by a kid who hasn't even reached his manhood yet." His frown turned to a mocking smile. "It must pain you terribly to just sit there and wait for someone to attack you, then, just as they are about to, sound the retreat and flee the field of battle."

Cornvale's eyes widened. "H-h-how did you?"

"Oh, yes, I know all about the battle this night. I know how, at daybreak, seeing the young Lord Roy's company, you turned tail and fled, only to come to me and give me a condescending report. In fact, I don't recall hearing you say anything about calling a retreat at all."

"But, sir–"

Bearoth raised a hand to silence him. "No, I understand, General Cornvale. Obviously, the mental strain is getting to you. Therefore, you are hereby stripped of rank and assigned to the first strike squad." Bearoth swiped both his General's cape and medal in one swipe, ripping the former with a sound that sounded eerily like the tearing of flesh. "You should hurry to the armory. Your armor is far too gaudy for the frontlines, and your company leaves in an hour."

"B-b-but sir, I beg of, give me another chance!"

The High Druid's smile only grew, and now Bearoth was wearing the most evil smirk Cornvale had ever seen. "I have given you another chance, General–or, excuse me, officer–Cornvale. Surely you realize how easily it would have been for me to kill you then, when I gripped you by the throat–how easy it would have been for me to crush your spine, to break your neck like a winter twig?"

Horrified, Cornvale knelt down unsteadily on shaking knees. "O-of course, my lord. I am forever in your debt."

Bearoth's smile disappeared. "Excellent. Now, get yourself to the armory."

"Y-yes, sir," Cornvale said as he rose, still bowing every step, and all but ran for the door.

"Oh, and officer?"

"Y-yes," Cornvale whispered, afraid to know what he was answering to.

"I hope for your sake that you live through the coming battle. You really need to work on doing away with your speech impediment. Stuttering is most unbecoming to a soldier."

"Yes, sir," Cornvale said, his voice controlled but shaky, and fled the building.

Bearoth watched him go, then went back to his maps. He had to assume now that all of the information he had recieved from his spies was correct. He really had been hoping that Cornvale would have had a better, truthful report. He shouldn't have done so–it was just setting himself up for disappointment.

As he studied the maps, he searched them for flaws. Castle Meroven was still standing firm, mostly thanks to the accursed Falcoknights of Ilia, and his fellow Druids reported a gigantic magical barrier around Castle Reglay. Neither situation was very hopeful, nor very encouraging. So far, the Etrurian campaign was going far worse than the Sacaen one. Then again, as soon as he had set the plains afire, he had known the cowards would run for help. He just hadn't dare expected their Lady, a wench by the name of Lyndis, to run to Eliwood for assitance. It was yet another hitch in his plans, and yet it was one he should have forseen.

He slammed his fist down on the maps. "Damn you, Master Nergal! In your haste to conquer them, you unwittingly drove them together and bonded them forever. You have made my campaign that much harder, and I curse your grave for it!"

He quickly controlled his breathing again after that last outburst. It was now a half-hour until the first strike sqaud–the former General Cornvale among them–would attack Castle Reglay, and he had nowhere for them to attack.

Suddenly, he felt five other presences appear in the room, all with strong quintessences. His own golems. The puppet had created his own puppets. While they weren't nearly as perfect as Nergal's–after all, he could not, in a proper state of mind, create something as perfect and powerful as himself–they were still potent pawns.

"Ssssir," the one called Vernyn whispered. It was an unfortunate side-effect of his use of dragon quintessence–harvested from the hidden land of Arcadia–that his golems spoke with a lizardesque lisp. "Do you have our orderssss?"

"Yesss, from whensssse will our next meal of blood come?" said Xavus.

The others–Nessus, Qerus, and Ultin–began whispering excitedly at the prospect of harvesting more quintessence, however weak it was.

"Silence!" Bearoth ordered. "Sentinels of darkness, you have gathered to hear your orders from your master, so do not give them to yourselves!"

"Of courssssse," Qerus whispered.

"Now," the High Druid said, "you are no longer needed here."

Moans of dissent grew among the golems, and Bearoth held up a hand to silence them. "Do not misunderstand me, my loyal minions. I have uses for you elsewhere."

"But ssssir," Nessus protested, "I can sensssse the little noble's quintessence in the casssstle. With your power, we could break the sssshield and kill him!"

"No!" Bearoth yelled, and the five golems shrank back in fear. "The lordling is mine, do you understand? For that is the way my master has designed this world's downfall. Even if it is as the spies say, and the heroes of the last war were forewarned of this conflict, they cannot imagine the scope of this imminent disaster. But for this all to work, for the final conflict to fufill the prophecy properly, the lordling must mature and learn his true nature. That means, in other words, _he must stay alive_. Do you understand me?"

"Yesss," the golems agreed.

"Now, then," Bearoth began, as if the last exchange had never happened, "Nessus and Qerus, you will take a company of magicians to the Nabata desert. I must find the lost Sanctuary, and I cannot wait much longer. The portal at the Dragon's Gate has been regrettably destroyed, and I have need of another. Surely the old Archsage had a way to commute to his beloved Arcadia. I want you to find it. Do not return until you have found it."

"Yesss, Master," the two said, and disappeared in twin flashes of light.

"Ultin, Vernyn, you must take over command of the Lycian invasion. General Murdock will be displeased that I have reassigned him, but I am currently rather displeased with him. Order him to report to the Bern Manse immediately and wait for instructions."

"Assss you wissssh," they said in unison, and vanished.

Finally, he turned to Xavus, and touched his icy fingers to her equally cold skin. A smile crossed his face as he looked at her blood-red lips and night-black hair. "For you, my sweet, I have a special task, one that the others have no knowledge of. The spell I have placed on the sweet Princess of Bern will need to be recast on the full moon. It is likely that the impudent King Zephiel will attempt to interfere. You must not kill him, but beyond that...I care not how you deal with him." He kissed her full on the lips, a gesture he had learned from his Master, but she did not respond like that wench Sonia had. Instead, she responded indifferently, and suddenly Bearoth could no longer feel her within his embrace.

His face hardened again, and threw up his hood. The sun had risen, and he hated the sun. Regrettably, he would have to force his hand now. The youngest Heir of Roland was hiding from in Castle Reglay, protected by the Heir of Athos. As long as the two heirs were together, there was little chance of destroying either. Two bloodlines flowing in one place was too strong an Old Magic to be undone by the New.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He strode over to the map and searched for the other Heir of Roland that he knew of, the child of Hector. He scanned his enchanted map, simultaneously reaching out with his magic, trying to find her quintessence. The quintessence of Hector's daughter was not present in the land of Etruria. But, to the west...faintly, yes, it was there.

The frown on the High Druid's face suddenly turned into a wide smile. His troops had their marching orders, so the futile attack on Castle Reglay would commence with or without him. This new plan required immediate and decisive action if it was to work, and would cut a sizable portion of his timetable away. Yes...it would work. Now he chuckled and readied his things, picking up a tome or two of his own design–in case the foolish nobles of Ostia tried something stupid.

Bearoth raised his hand. A hexagram appeared on the floor beneath his feet and, in a flash of light, the High Druid disappeared from Etruria entirely, moving on the paths of magic to the Ostian capital–and towards the undoing of Elibe.

* * *

_oOo...if you guess where the next chapter will take place, I'll give you a Christmas cookie! lol no seriously, i'll email it to you. lol jk_

_Have a Merry Christmas! This chapter is my gift to you!_


	10. Nine: The Gathering Storm

**A/N: **_Sorry about this very un-organized author's note, but I can't add author's notes online with this computer, so this is the only author's note you get! XD_

_I am quite fond of this chapter, by the way. I just up and wrote it in one marathon session, and I really like it. I had a reviewer read it, and she liked it too, so there you go. Plus, an interesting ending! You'll probably see it coming though._

_Oh, and I don't own Fire Emblem. Of course. If you thought I did…you're giving me far too much credit. Nintendo and Intelligent Systems deserve it all._

**

* * *

Nine: The Gathering Storm**1

Lilina awoke suddenly, reacting to a severe jolt. "Owww..."

"Relax, Lilina. I couldn't wake you at camp, so I just put you behind me on the horse."

Disoriented, she tried to open her eyes, but was promptly blinded by the sun. When she tried to lift her hands to screen the light, she found them bound.

"Lowen?" she moaned groggily. "Why are my hands tied down? Where are we?"

"We're almost to House Ostia, milady. Your hands are tied so you don't fall off the horse. Your legs are bound to the stirrups too. I'm apologize if it's a little uncomfortable for you, but I was sort of rushed."

"Why's that?"

As if in answer to her question, she felt something whiz over her shoulder. She blinked, and they passed a tree with an arrow shaft stuck in it.

"We're being followed," Lowen said belatedly. "When I woke up, they had me surrounded."

"I see," she murmured. Though it was hard to do, she managed to turn her head over her shoulder enough to see a little of what was behind her. In her range of vision, there were two nomads and a paladin trailing them at a short distance, and–rather distressingly–they appeared to be closing in.

Suddenly, she saw the paladin ready a javelin in his hand and throw it forward, arcing high above her head.

Quickly calculating the angle, Lilina shouted orders to Lowen. "Hard left! Javelin incoming overhead!"

She spun her head around just as Lowen jerked the reins to the left, causing the horse to veer sharply. If not for the bindings on her hands and feet, she would likely have fallen off the horse.

Two more arrows flew over their heads, and a javelin suddenly landed in the center of the road, causing Lowen to make another hard turn to the right. There were many paths through the Great Wood to House Ostia, and Lowen had no doubt been shown many of them. But if they were going to elude their pursuers, Lilina knew that a secret route would need to be used.

"Lowen," she shouted to the cavalier, "do you know how to get to the gold oak?"

"We're coming up to it," he shouted over the rushing wind.

"When we get there, go behind the tree and jump off the ridge to the left."

He turned his head backward, as though he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you certain?"

She nodded unnecessarily, as Lowen couldn't see the reassuring gesture. "Of course. Father takes me riding through these woods all the time, and Roy and I have raced through her many times. I know how to lose them."

The cavalier shrugged and dipped his head low again, concentrating on avoiding the projectiles that littered their path at random intervals. He was supposed to protect Lilina no matter what, but her instructions seemed a little shady to him. If he recalled correctly, behind and to the left of the gold oak was a wall of ivy and briars...

Suddenly the shady forest road he had been following broke into a sunlit clearing, in the center of which stood a gigantic, gold-leafed oak tree. They were here.

"Behind and to the left, right?" he asked skeptically.

"Don't you trust me?" Lilina said, rather annoyed at his insubordination. "Just do it!"

As they turned to corner, Lowen was dismayed to see that his memory had served him correctly. A wall of verdant ivy stood tall in front of him, with veins of brown thorns mingled into it. And it was coming closer and closer with every hoofbeat. "Here we go!" he shouted.

Horse, rider and passenger exploded through the wall and landed, five feet down, on a cushion of fallen gold leaves, all relatively unscathed.

"Turn around and go under the ridge," Lilina ordered. "Follow the cave. You'll have to go slower, but they'll be lost as soon as we disappear."

Lowen nodded so Lilina could see that he understood, and reined the horse around. Though it looked as though he was charging straight into a wall of limestone, he did as she said. So far, she had been right about everything...

Suddenly the floor dropped out from underneath him, and his horse was trotting down a rather steep incline. The cavernous passageway seemed more like a hallway to Lowen, and he had keep his head low constantly to avoid cracking his skull on the numerous stalactites that hung from the low ceiling.

Lilina, who had no problem at all with the ceiling, was craning her neck over her shoulder to look behind them. She saw nothing but the light cast by the sun from outside.

"We're all clear," she whispered. "Don't shout down here. The sound will carry back up to the cave entrance."

"But won't the sound of the hoofbeats echo just as bad as our voices?" Lowen asked apprehensively, afraid to know the answer.

"Oh," Lilina said, and let out a low whistle. "I guess I didn't consider that. I've never actually ridden a horse this way, but I thought it would be high enough to work." She cursed her lack of foresight. "I should have thought of that..."

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats grew louder. "Are we going faster, Lowen?"

He shook his head, no.

Realizing exactly what that meant, Lilina fearfully looked over her shoulder.

There were two paladins now, and only one nomad on their trail. She could only see them in the faint light let in by fractures in the ceiling, but it looked as though they were still a good distance back.

"Any ideas, milady? We're gonna need 'em pretty quick, if you know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do know what you mean, Lowen. All too well..." Lilina sighed as she remembered why she hadn't tried this route on horseback before. Ahead a ways and around two bends, she knew, there was an open chamber with three low passageways, far too small for a person on horseback, and almost too small for her to walk down without holding her head down. For their purposes, it was a dead end.

"We need a plan, and fast," she shouted. "There's a dead end up ahead."

"Lovely," the cavalier muttered loudly. "Any ideas on how to avoid this dead end?"

"I'm afraid not," she murmured. She set about thinking of a plan, but every time they crashed through a sunlight portion of the hall, her concentration was interrupted. But, as her eyes were dazzled by another thin shaft of light, inspiration struck.

"Lowen, do you have your lance?" she asked.

"What? Why do you want that?"

"Where is it, you fool! If you don't tell me, we're likely to die in here!"

"It's clasped to the right side, by your stirrup." Suddenly, Lowen realized what she wanted to do, and realized that she was going to be impeded. "Oh, you're going to want your bindings cut, aren't you?"

"Yes, that would be helpful, sir knight," she said icily. "Would you care to hand me your knife?"

"Can you reach it with your fingers?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the question. "I really need to steer the horse, so we don't crash into a wall before we hit the dead end."

"I suppose that might be helpful," she conceded. "But how am I supposed to grab it from your belt? If you'll recall, you're also the idiot that bound my hands to the saddle!"

"Oh, yes, well...erm...can you take it in your mouth?"

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, just lean over, bite down on the handle, and pull your head back. Then put it in between the saddle and the rope, and pull it back towards you."

"RIGHT!" she yelled.

"Okay, okay. You don't have to be so loud about it, though–"

"TURN RIGHT!" she screamed.

Lowen whirled around to see the stone wall coming almost to an end, except for the right wall being shorter. He grabbed the reins at the last moment and pulled to the right with all his might.

The horse reacted quickly, turning just as Lowen directed. It was a little overzealous, though, and slammed it's right side into the wall.

As it came away, Lilina realized that her leg bindings had been cut by the rough wall. "Ram against the other wall," she ordered.

Lowen nodded, and pulled the reins left. The horse slammed into the wall again, cutting Lilina's left leg free. She also managed to pull her hands over to the wall, and the rough surface cut the bindings on her hands as well.

"Free yet?" Lowen asked. "The horse doesn't like running against walls so well."

Lilina was about to answer, but a crash from behind interrupted her. She whirled around to discover that one of the paladins had not reacted to the turn in time and had crashed into a wall, horse and rider collapsing onto the dank floor. His companions cautiously stepped over him, then continued the pursuit.

Lilina turned around again to focus on the problem at hand. Reaching down blindly, she felt the shaft of the lance that Lowen had buckled to the side of the horse. Thankfully, it didn't feel damaged from the run-in with the wall.

She tried to heft it out of it's bracket, but couldn't do it. Carefully, so as not to throw herself off balance, she leaned over the side of the horse to survey the contraption. She now saw that two clasping mechanisms held the lance to the saddle. One of them was within her reach. The other, Lowen would have to handle.

She undid the fist one, then shouted to Lowen, "Unbuckle the lance from up there, too!"

The cavalier's golden-gauntlet covered hand reached down and blindly undid the clasp. The lance fell into Lilina's waiting grip. She expertly balanced it, even though she was only holding onto the bottom half. Carefully, she lifted it upward, until she had complete control of the weapon.

She looked up at the ceiling. Even still, further into the ground, there were places where the ceiling had weakened, and now allowed some light to filter through. These weak points were her focus. If she could collapse some of the ceiling with Lowen's lance, they could buy time to escape the dead end.

Just as she was about to attempt this plan, Lowen shouted, "Hold on!" She quickly sat, holding the lance vertical at her side, but not high enough to hit the ceiling.

Abruptly and sharply, they veered left. As soon as the Lowen straightened their path, Lilina switched her feet around and twisted her body so that she sat backward on the horse.

"Wish me luck, sir knight," she joked grimly.

"No need," he shouted, "the gods are always with the children of Roland."

Strangely, the blessing made Lilina smile. Renewing her grip on the lance, she shoved it upward as they neared a crack of light.

The spear point slipped into the crack and broke through the stone separating it from the next crack. Lilina quickly pulled the lance back down. Her wrists were stinging and her hands were bleeding from the impact, but her smile grew all the wider as she witnessed her plan come to fruition.

Where the lance had broken the ceiling support, there was now a wide-open area of sunlight-bathed rock–jagged, broken, and twisted. She resisted the childish urge to laugh and mock the paladin and nomad as they skidded to a halt in the now impassable hallway.

"Very good, milady," Lowen said. Then, to the horse, he shouted, "Whoa! Easy, girl!"

The horse skidded to a stop on it's worn hooves just before a sheer rock face–the virtual dead end Lilina had fortunately remembered.

She and Lowen dismounted gracefully, she more so than he, though he was quite agile for a knight. "So, sir knight," she said with a slightly premature chuckle of victory, "which tunnel will it be?"

They stood before two tunnels. One went left, and one went right, but the right one was bigger. Lowen thought he could probably walk down it without too much discomfort.

"I'll say the right one. Where does it come out?"

"A quarter-league from the east entrance of the House," she replied. "The tunnel itself isn't long."

"Excellent," the cavalier said. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, he motioned to the right-hand tunnel. "After you, milady."

"Thank you, sir knight," she said, and mock curtsied. Then, giggling slightly, she ducked her head and entered the tunnel. Lowen turned back and looked down the tunnel, to reassure himself of their safety. The dust had settled, and the paladin and nomad had disappeared. Apparently, they had decided to abandon their pursuit. Satisfied that he and Lilina were no longer in danger from the rear, he crouched down and began to walk through the tunnel.

The first thing Lowen noticed about the tunnel was the utter blackness it contained. It had the mysterious power to envelope in total darkness in silence. Lowen was certain that Lilina had only entered the tunnel mere seconds before he had, and yet he could hear nothing ahead of him. The second thing he noticed about it was the dank, musty smell, as if nothing in the tunnel had been disturbed since the first Scouring. The third, he regrettably observed, was the slimy growth on the walls and ceiling, which he had the unfortunate experience of touching.

As he continued down the tunnel, he quickened his pace in order to catch up with Lilina. He was becoming increasingly annoyed with the complete lack of sound in the hallway. It was almost as if someone had placed a silence spell on the place...

Suddenly, a horrible thought entered his mind, one that he prayed was only a nightmare. He was on all fours now, scrambling to get to the end of the tunnel, afraid of what he would find there, but knowing that he would have to face it nevertheless.

Abruptly, light and sound both returned to him, and both in a shocking manner. He stood up blinked twice, and came face to face with an enormous shadow. In it's black arms was Lilina's limp body, a tortured look on her face despite her closed eyes.

"**Don't worry about her. She'll be quite safe in my hands.**" the shadow said in a cruel voice, and laughed ominously. It's laugh was like the rumbling of a distant but threatening thunderstorm, and Lowen suddenly felt a premonition, as though this shadow represented the storm that was about to break over Elibe.

"W-who are you? What do you want?" Lowen asked, his voice brave but shaky.

"**I have what I want,**" the shadow said dryly. "**As for who I am, allow me to give you a clue before I depart.**"

Lowen was about to step forward, but he was stopped by the sight of something he hoped was only still present in his all-too-real nightmares of the Second Scouring...

The shadow had burning, brilliant golden eyes. The eyes of a golem.

"Gods..." Lowen breathed. "You're...one of Nergal's abominations. But...you were all dead."

The shadow cackled maniacally, then leveled it's gaze at Lowen, who was quaking in fear. "**I am no mere creation of Master Nergal's. I am his apprentice. I am the heir of his bloodline. My name is Bearoth, and, for the sake of my slain Master, I am finishing the work that he started.**"

"No...you'll never summon the dragons again," Lowen whispered. "Her Highness, Queen Ninian of the Ice, sealed the portal herself."

Lowen's words only caused the shadow named Bearoth to laugh harder and more venemously. "**Foolish knight of Pherae! This is not just about the dragons anymore! No, this is something far greater–something you could not possibly comprehend.**" As he finished his sentence, an arcane emblem appeared beneath his feet and began to glow. "**Tell Marquess Ostia that if he wishes to save his daughter, his country must break away from Lycia, and he must exile himself from her. Ostia must be a new territory, and his daughter must rule it. If he does this deed, then his daughter will be his.**" As his body began to disappear, he whispered, "**Tell him, foolish knight. Tell him you couldn't stop me, and he can't either.**" With that, he disappeared entirely.

Trembling, Lowen fell to his knees and cried out, "Gods! Why have you abandoned your child? Save the bloodline of Roland! Keep her safe, as I could not. Please..."

And as he prayed, the sun disappeared behind a blanket of black clouds, and the rain began to fall over Lycia.


	11. Ten: The Turning of the Wheels

1

_A/N: Hmm...well, it certainly has been a long time since I was writing a new chapter of this story. But, as you may have found out from reading my other stories (hint hint), I have a HUGE course load this semester of school, so updates will likely be few and far between. And my classes aren't very inspiring (Chem and Algebra II just aren't very conducive to creative thought...) And that's about all that's up with me. So why did I return this story? I don't know. I guess I just thought it could use a little love in the form of a new chapter. Yes, thank me later–as in after you read it. I may have lost my prolific (at least I think so...is that too cocky a statement?) writer's touch, so forgive me if this chapter is a little tough on the old eyes and mind. It's just another bump in the road._

_By the way, I have this interesting urge (this is new, seriously) to actually FINISH a story! SHOCK GASP! I know, it seems a little rushed. But don't worry, it just means I'm putting careful thought into the way I want my stories to end. But they may be ending soon. I'll just leave it at that. I will end them, though, not just leave them hanging (as I have with my D.N.Angel story...oh dear...)_

_Never mind me. I'm just rambling. On to the story!_

**(DIVIDER!)**

**TEN: The Turning of the Wheels**

"Are you certain of what you saw, Lowen?"

"Of course I am, Hector! Excuse me, Marquess!"

"You know you don't need to use that title when you speak to me. You're an old friend."

Lowen sighed. "I know, sir. It's just that...I was trying to say that I respect the fact that you have a country to run, too."

It was Hector's turn to sigh. It echoed throughout the high-ceilinged Throne Hall of House Ostia as he got to his feet and descended the large marble steps from his throne to the floor of the Hall. He placed his hand on his companion's shoulder.

"I thank you for that sentiment, Lowen..." Hector whispered with a smile, "but my first priority is my daughter."

"But sir...the demands that that...that monster made...you can't possibly be thinking of complying with them!"

Hector's blue eyes grew dark with sadness. The silence in the hall was punctuated by the sounds of the storm that had drenched all of Lycia as soon as Lowen had walked through Hector's door. The Marquess looked upward, trying to see even a speck of light through the gigantic windows of the hall.

"If my daughter's life is at stake...my choice is already made. I shall abdicate tonight, quietly, and we shall leave tomorrow morning. Oswin is already making preparations. I shall leave explicit instructions to the Regent to secede from the Lycian League only if he hears that I am dead."

Lowen looked up suddenly, surprised by Hector's words. "What do you mean, 'only if I am dead'?"

The grizzled lord laughed bitterly. "Oh, Lowen. You didn't honestly think that I would go down without a fight, did you?"

Lowen's smile brightened as he saw the Marquess smile. "No, sir. This is just like old times, eh?"

Hector nodded. "Get some sleep. Ask the door guard for directions to your rooms. You've had a long day, and we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

Lowen bowed. "Yes, sir." With that, he hurried out of the Hall, gently closing the large oak doors behind him.

Hector simply stood for a moment, listening to the rain and thunder outside. His daughter was in danger, and he was going to save her. His hand instinctively went to his chin, and he stroked his beard. He really was too old to be going into battle again.

He breathed in, a solemn, lonely tear sliding down his cheek. "Father Roland..." he whispered. "They say that you watch over all your children. I pray now that your view is not obstructed by these clouds of darkness. I have need of your courage and strength...for I know, in my heart, that this is the last battle...my last battle."

"Fall back!" Eliwood shouted. "Fall back to the walls!"

Feeling the rush of air on his side as an attacker neared him, Eliwood swung his sword upward, connecting with the Bern soldier's chest, slashing him and sending him flying over the wall and plummeting to his death.

He glanced quickly at his soldiers below the wall. They were indeed following his orders, slowly backing up to the wall and funneling through the gate. The Bern frontline was still fighting fiercely, but Pherae's frontline was being excellently commanded by Kent, who was barking his own orders to specific units.

"Eliwood! Watch out! Wyvern!"

Eliwood spun to find Lyn's voice, only to fall into the shadow of Wyvern Rider, hovering over the wall, separating him from the rest of his small contingent defending the wall.

The dragon grinned wickedly, big drops of green-brown saliva dripping from its bared fangs. The rider held a wicked-looking lance, gleaming in the setting sun.

"I have you now, Marquess Pherae!" the rider cried. His dragon settled on the wall, shaking the stones at Eliwood's feet, but the seasoned warrior stood firm, sword outstretched toward his advancing foe.

"Oh, just think! I will be the hero of the Lycian Campaign, and Bearoth will promote me to General, and I'll replace that dastard Murdock!"

Eliwood frowned at this and shouted, "What did you say about General Murdock?"

The rider laughed, and his wyvern screeched. "General Murdock? Haven't you heard yet, Marquess Pherae? The General will be meeting an unfortunate demise at the full moon tonight!" He cackled evilly again. "Lord Bearoth is going to make an example out of him at Bern Manse tonight, you can be sure of that!"

Eliwood's mind was racing, but he didn't let the rider know it. He should be answering to keep delaying him, but the rider's answer had shocked him–Murdock would suffer some cruel fate at the full moon? The statement had a evil ring to it, and Eliwood was sad for Murdock. He had just been following orders in the first place. There was no reason for the man to die. He was an excellent soldier, probably one of the best in all of Bern...

"It's time to die now, Marquess Pherae!" The wyvern unfurled its leathery wings and propelled itself a little off the stone wall, and the rider adjusted his spear.

"Yaaaaaah!" The scream was not the rider's. Before Eliwood's eyes, a flash of silver light slashed the rider and the wyvern in half. The broken pieces of their bodies fell over the wall, leaving a slick mess of red and black blood on the stone wall.

Lyndis, knelt on the wall, an extremely large saber clutched in both her hands, shining silver in spite of the black blood covering it–the Sol Katti.

Eliwood cautiously went to Lyn's side. "Thank you for that, Lyn."

She shrugged and laid the Sol Katti behind the parapet, out of view. "I'm just trying to keep you alive. You're not helping much, though."

"I apologize," said Eliwood darkly. "Listen, that rider said something to me, and it struck me as being familiar...

He told Lyn about what the rider had said, pausing occasionally to duck as blazing balls of light flashed overhead, Lucius' Light magic destroying a flying Wyvern Rider.

Lyn frowned. "That's odd...I feel it too, but I can't quite place the feeling. It's almost like...dread."

Eliwood nodded, then moved Lyn aside as he did battle with an onrushing attacker, whom he quickly dispatched with a sword thrust and a pommel to the head.

"That was exactly what I was thinking..." suddenly, his eyes went wide, terrible recognition registering on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Dread...Lyn, whatever is going to happen at Bern Manse tonight, I think it might be similar to what happened at the Dread Isle."

Lyn gasped. "But...that's impossible. We rid the continent of the morphs after Nergal was defeated..."

"You did no sssuch thing."

Lyn and Eliwood spun wildly. A short figure, wreathed in black cloth and shadow, stood in the middle of the wall, golden eyes gleaming devilishly from under its hood.

"N-n-not you!"

The shadow cackled and threw back its hood. Shoulder length green hair framed a slender, pale face with fiery gold eyes. It was not one of their old archenemies, but the face was nevertheless familiar.

"I am Nessus! Bearoth has sssent me to aid the pathetic mortalsss in the dessstruction of Lysssia." A smirk formed itself on the Nessus' face, and Eliwood could have sworn he saw a forked tongue lick the Golem's pale lips.

Lyn reached down and clutched the Sol Katti in her hands. "Well, consider us the people who will stop you." As though it was responding to her courageous words, the blade shone with biting silver light.

Nessus shrieked and shrank away from the gleaming sword. "Curssses! One of the Holy Twinsss!" Apparently sufficiently away from the sword's power, Nessus opened his eyes. "Crafty...crafty, children of Roland. But you'll have to do better than that if you hope to fight me!" The morph thrust a hand toward Lyn and Eliwood. An arcane symbol twisted itself on her hand and came to life, shimmering with an ugly green light.

Suddenly tendrils of shadow came screaming towards the Lords. Lyn raised the Sol Katti, and it responded by increasing the strength of its glow from bright to blinding. Some of the dark arrows dissolved in the silver light, but still other managed to get through the light barrier, slashing at Eliwood's arms and leg. He winced, feeling warm blood well up at the wounds. "Damn," he cursed, bringing his now red fingers away from his shoulder.

The morph cackled. "I'm jussst getting ssstarted, children of Roland!" Then he uttered a string of words in a hissing language, and a long finger drew signs in the air, which hung there glowing eerily in the light of the setting sun.

Shadows grew around Eliwood and Lyndis, their spindly tops looking like the tips of a thousand lances of darkness.

Lyn swallowed. Even the light given off by the Sol Katti seemed to fade as it neared the shadowy cage.

"Eliwood...this is bad."

"I know, Lyn...I know..."

Roy stormed into the War Room of Castle Reglay, his clothes stained with soot, sweat and the blood of his enemies. Though he had lasted through his first battle, it was not a pleasant experience, and he was certainly worse for the wear. Behind him strode the twins, Rebecca, and Victor.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "The battle isn't over yet, and without us to back them up, your students will be vulnerable to other attacks!"

Pent and Mikhail turned around at the same time, and in the same manner, so that Roy was struck by the fact that Mikhail looked like a younger image of the Archsage. They were both impeccably groomed, despite having been in the thick of battle not an hour prior, though they were dressed peculiarly. Roy frowned. They looked like they were about to go on a trip...

"You're wondering why we are dressed so, no doubt, my young Lord Roy?" Pent chuckled. "Well, it just so happens that we are going on a trip."

"We've located your father," Mikhail continued. "He and the rest of the Pheraean Army are fighting at Shellak."

"That's on the border of Lycia and Bern," Zechary said.

"An important stronghold, that," Phillip agreed.

"Yes, well," Mikhail said, "the rest of the news is...less optimistic."

Pent looked gravely at Roy. "Milord Roy, our spies in the Bern army report that at least one of Bearoth's Druid generals was dispatched to aid the effort in Shellak. From the beating our shield has taken from the lone Druid that stands before it now, this is not a good sign for your father."

"Then we have to get there!" Roy shouted. He spun and started running towards the door, but Mikhail grabbed his arm and held him back.

"There are more efficient ways of coming to your father's aid than to go gallivanting across the countryside like a flock of berserked pegasi," Pent said, using a rather obscure simile, but nevertheless getting his point across.

Roy eyed the Archsage suspiciously. "You're telling me that you can take me to my father...without 'gallivanting across the countryside'? How so?"

Mikhail smiled. "Come with us."

In a strange blur–Roy really wasn't sure of everything that happened next–he and his companions were descending a circular staircase of blue stone, following Pent and Mikhail, each of whom were holding a torch. The air was cool but thick with a heady scent, not sweet or spicy, but heavy, like incense...

And then they emerged in a gigantic underground chamber. The room was a perfect circle, with another circle laid out on the floor in pure gold. Eight onyx pillars held up the ceiling, placed on the points where a circumscribed octagon intersected with the outer circle.

"What is this place?" Rebecca asked, her voice filled with wonderment.

Mikhail smiled and took another step into the chamber. Instantly, eight torches–attached to the pillars–burst into flame, and a sweet-smelling mist, silvery mist swept through the room.

"This is the Heart of Reglay," Pent said, stepping into the center of the circle and raising his hands. In response, the gold design on the floor began to glow.

Mikhail motioned for Roy and the others to follow him into the center of the circle, too. They did so apprehensively, not sure what would happen by walking into a magic circle. In doing so, they failed to notice the way the gold circle flash when Roy stepped into it.

Pent looked thoughtfully at the boy. So he was the heir apparent to House Pherae. So what? Plenty of lordlings wandered the countryside all the time, and yet...there was something about this one...some aura, but of what, the Archsage had nary an idea. Could it be...

Mikhail tapped him on the shoulder. "Master...we really should be going."

"Ah, yes. Very well." Pent rolled up his sleeves and reached into his robes, withdrawing a pouch of turquoise velvet bound with gold string. Humming a faint tune, he untied the string and poured the contents of the bag into his hand.

It was pure, white sand. Roy had never seen that kind of sand before. It was said white sand only came from the icy shores of Ilia. As Pent began to sing in the language of magic, Roy wondered how the Mage-General of Etruria had come to own such a thing...

Suddenly Pent's voice reached a crescendo, a haunting melody hanging in the air. Suddenly Roy's senses failed him, and everything faded to black.

Colors began to swirl faintly in front of his eyes, though his senses registered nothing. "Focus on the face of your father, Lord Roy," Pent's voice commanded in his mind. "Focus on his face."

Roy concentrated on the last image of his father–standing in the gates of House Pherae, watching as his son rode off into the sunset...

The colors immediately responded, swimming and spinning and soldifying until Roy saw two figures surrounded by a cage of dark energy. One was a lady wielding a glowing saber, the other was a man with fiery red hair...

"Father!" Roy screamed. His senses came back to him in a rush as he stepped onto hard stone and started running, unconsciously drawing the sword his father had given him on that day, the day that already seemed so long ago.

Eliwood turned to see his son running towards him, the nameless sword sparkling ominously, followed by his companions and Lord Pent, who had just stepped out of thin air.

"Father!" Roy cried. "Father!"

"Stay back, son!" Eliwood yelled sadly. This wasn't fair. His son would appear only to see his father die...

Then Nessus shrieked, an awful, piercing cry, and writhed to the ground, releasing his grip on the shadowy cage. It shattered in a flurry of black feathers that fell solemnly onto the wall.

Roy ran to embrace his father, followed quickly by Pent, whose eyes were blazing and focused on the Golem in front of him. From his robes he drew an ancient tome, its cover inscribed with an arcane symbol that flared to life at the Archsage's touch.

Nessus' eyes opened, his face grimacing in pain. "Damn you, Archsage. My brethren were supposed to destroy you and your accursed palace!"

"Well," Pent quipped dryly, "apparently you were mistaken, because I am, in fact, alive and well." He pointed a bony finger at the creature, and the book flung itself open, a phantom wind blowing through its pages, glowing with a warm light. In a deep, otherworldy voice, Pent began to intone the magic spell. "Et solarum grevenous duryn vesternum queriin!"

Light crackled at his fingers, and threads of light began to wind their way around Nessus' prone body, forming an orb of light, sparking and singing the Golem's black robes.

Nessus was still grimacing, but it appeared that he was attempting to maintain some form of honor in the face of death, as he was no longer cursing his opponent.

"Destroying me will do nothing, Archsage, and you know that full well."

"Hmm..." Pent murmured. "I think you are wrong, one born from the depths of the darkness. Destroying you will most certainly prevent the deaths of the children of Roland, if only for a moment."

Nessus glowered. "That may be, but the Roland's kin will not be able to run from their fate for long. Nor will the lines of the other heroes survi–"

But before the Golem could finish his sentence, Pent closed his fist, and the orb of light suddenly coalesced into a fireball, and then collapsed inward upon itself. With a shriek and a flash of light, one evil entity was banished from Elibe.

Mikhail rushed over to his master just as Pent was about to collapse on the wall. Gently, he laid his master's head on the stone surface of the wall and took a pouch from his robes.

"Is he alright?" Rebecca asked.

Mikhail nodded. "The magic he just performed was one of the High Magics. It takes a lot of energy to invoke, and my master is growing old, even if he refuses to admit it."

"Rebecca! A little help!"

Rebecca whirled around, nocking an arrow in her bow, and found the source of the voice. Phillip and Zechary were engaged in a battle with some of Bern's soldiers that had crept up on the party during the battle with the Golem. Just above them, a Wyvern Rider hovered threateningly. She raised her bow, aimed, and released the arrow, sending it speeding straight at the dragonling's heart. With a horrible scream, it fell from the air.

Seeing the battle taking place, Eliwood leaned over and kissed his son's forehead. "Son...this is no place for a reunion. Go and find Serra in the city barracks. You can help her in the hospital–"

Roy shook his head and pulled away from his father. "Sir," he began, causing Eliwood to wince, "I have no intention of leaving you alone. There is a battle here to win, and I intend to win it with you."

For a moment, Eliwood considered disagreeing. But then he saw something in his son's eyes that hadn't been there before–it wasn't coldness, or power, or bloodlust. It was love, and compassion, and the understanding of life. Being in battle had taught his son all the things that he had hoped it would–a respect for the value of life.

The Marquess placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "In that case, Lord Roy," his eyes sparkled as he uttered the words, "let us finish this."

Roy smiled and raised his sword. Then he and his father raced down the side of the wall. Lyn watched as they ran, side by side, toward the setting sun, and wondered...

As Zephiel watched the sun set through his tower window, the thrill of anticipation ran through his veins. Tonight, at last, the spell Bearoth had placed on his beloved Guinevere would be at its weakest. This night, his chance would come. He could undo all the wrongs of his past and start anew. Guinevere would forgive him, as she always had, and they would continue to rule together, and try to rebuild the relationships that Bearoth and his despicable designs had ruined.

He turned from the window and went to his dressing room. From a chest hidden under an oak table, he withdrew a night-black robe, a pair of black leggings, and a dark tunic. He donned them quickly, glancing behind them every now and again to be sure that no one was watching him. He knew that his rule was only an illusion conceived to fool the citizens of Bern, and that no one in the Manse was his friend. He was distinctly alone. Not even Eliwood had come to his aid, though it wasn't necessarily his fault.

Finally, he wrapped himself in the robe of night, clasping it with a gold medal, similar to the ones he had seen Bearoth's abominations wear. He threw up the hood and went to his mirror. Yes, he looked like a wraith. In this way, he could pass through the castle without arousing suspicion, and reach Guinevere's bedchamber in order to destroy the spell that held her in thrall.

He frowned as he saw his blue eyes sparkle with tears from beneath the hood. He cursed himself for forgetting that crucial detail. His eyes were not the threatening gold of a Golem's. If he had to face someone and look them in the eyes, they would not be fooled by the disguise.

His heart sank. Before his plan had even been set in motion, it had been foiled by his own stupidity. He fell backward and landed with a soft thump on his floor rug, sobbing in despair.

He cried and cried, watching as the sun dipped behind the distant hills, blanketing the land in twilight. Mercifully, the stars did not show themselves and remind him of the beauty of his love, and the terrible fate she would again suffer this night.

And suddenly, he felt something inside of him. Not fear, and not hopelessness, but something different...like faith, and courage, and hope.

He stood, amazed at his emotions. Though he knew not what, something was going to happen tonight...and he was going to be a part of it.

He looked at himself in his mirror again. Did the demons even have to look at others? Bearoth had taught them that they were chosen beings; they didn't so much as glance a poor, insignificant underling. No, he decided, his plan would still work.

A new resolve steeling him for whatever was to come, he ran to his dresser and pulled out the top drawer. Rifling through his stockings, he finally reached the bottom the drawer, where a lone stocking sat. Only, this stocking looked rather bulky...

He reached into the stocking and withdrew a sparkling silver dagger. It was the most gorgeous knife in his possession, with a tear-shaped sapphire set into the hilt and the pommel wrapped in white silk.

It had been an engagement gift from Guinevere. She had called it _the Angel's Tear_. He felt more hot tears well up in his eyes, and a single one fell on the blade of the dagger. It promptly sizzled and vanished with a wisp of steam.

Zephiel sheathed the dagger deep within his cloak, taking special care to conceal its celestial glow. In his experience, Golems were not fond of shiny things.

Thus prepared, Zephiel quietly stole to the door. He listened. There were no footsteps at the door, nor any creaks from the stairs. Since his was the only room at the top of this tower, he could assume he was the only one present.

He opened the door and shut it softly. Then, taking a deep breath, he descended the stairs as a ghost would, but he was not out to haunt–he was out to save.


End file.
